Want a free book?

Sign up to my no-spam newsletter to get your free book Tell Me Where the Sandman Sleeps.

Just point your browser to www.PTLBOOKS.com to get started!

Also be sure to check out my Facebook group to discuss my books, and anything horror or thriller related: www.facebook.com/groups/LogansInsatiableReaders/

ALSO, I’ve got a NEW podcast for you, featuring in-depth insights into old and new Chase Adams cases. Search for ‘BEYOND THE CRIME SCENE: A CHASE ADAMS PODCAST’ to start listening now.

For more information about this podcast, please see the Author’s Note at the end of this book.

Tidal Bones

A Chase Adams FBI Thriller

Book 17

Patrick Logan

Tidal Bones

Prologue

Even the most amateurish of beachcombers know that if you don’t get to the beach early, you are shit out of luck. And to veteran Frank Vitrano early wasn’t seven A.M. Wasn’t six-thirty, or even six.

At six A.M., the shell collectors, the metal detector crew, and the business gurus who slept two hours a night and ran ten miles before torturing themselves in an ice bath had already destroyed the serenity of Laguna Beach.

No.

No.

During low tide, early morning was 4:30. Maybe even 4:00.

While Laguna Beach didn’t officially open until five, as long as you weren’t setting off fireworks or burning garbage on the beach, the Orange County Sheriff’s Department didn’t enforce this rule.

For years, Frank used to walk the sand with a metal detector. His best find to date was a two-karat diamond set in a platinum band.

Worth nearly twenty grand.

Frank wasted no time with this one. He couldn’t imagine how a bride might feel having lost her engagement ring. He pictured a distraught woman, up at night, maybe wearing gloves so that their fiancée didn’t notice the missing ring. Devising a plan to pick up a knock-off replacement from the local department store, something that looked similar but cost a fraction of what a real diamond would set her back.

Frank printed out a photo of the ring with his phone number and put up posters all around the beach, thinking that whoever lost it might come back to search one final time before breaking the devastating news to their husband-to-be.

Three people came forward, which was, to be fair, fewer than Frank expected.

The first woman, in her late thirties, had been twitchy, cracked out.

When Frank had asked her what the engraving on the band was, she initially refused to answer. When Frank pressed, she said that it was a simple inscription. Frank then asked her her name, and she started to say something that started with ‘Ch’, Cheryl, or Cherry, maybe, before clamming up.

He’d promptly sent her on her way.

The second woman who had come forward had done their research.

Although Frank couldn’t be certain, he suspected that this well-dressed woman in her mid-forties had seen the flyer and had gone to visit local jewelry stores, made inquiries about the band, asked about engravings.

He’d come close to giving it to her, but something about the way she acted seemed off to Frank. She’d guessed the engraving correctly—B+A—but then stumbled when Frank had asked her husband-to-be’s name. 

She’d gone with Ben but, for some reason, Frank believed that the B was the woman’s initial and not the man’s. There wasn’t any specific reason for this assumption, but it rang true to Frank, and, over the years, he’d learned to trust his gut.

To confirm his suspicions, he’d asked to see the woman’s ID, willing to give her another shot if her name was Alice or Amy.

The woman claimed that she left her wallet at home.

Yeah… no.

Frank had sent her on her way, too.

Enter Blakely Spencer, soon to be Blakely Rothstein.

Young, distraught, agitated but in a different way than the first claimant.

“Please, my fiancée…”

Frank didn’t even need to hear the rest of the sentence; he promptly handed the ring over. Blakely had offered him cash, nearly eight-hundred bucks—all that she could get on such short notice and without her fiancée noticing—but Frank had politely declined.

Just seeing the smile on the woman’s face was enough payment for him.

But despite this gratification, the metal detector wasn’t for Frank. He’d spent his entire life in Orange County, the last ten years of which he’d occupied his time beachcombing. It wasn’t the money—his parents were well off and when they’d passed, he’d inherited their estate, which was sufficient enough that he wasn’t required to work—but, rather, the thrill of finding something interesting.

That’s what he really wanted. Frank got up early every morning, even on weekends, and searched for something unique, something truly fascinating.

This week had been slow.

Frank’s most interesting find had been a fully intact Olive Snail shell. As it happened, the local museum was in the process of setting up a mollusk exhibit to highlight the local marine ecosystem. Frank brought the shell to his friend, museum curator Andrew Denishen, who had been ecstatic about the find.

It was coming up on five now, and while the sun was still hidden behind the horizon, the sky had started to lighten enough that he felt comfortable switching off his headlamp.

Adjusting the backpack over his shoulder—it was unfortunately empty today—Frank continued to scour the beach.

He had less than an hour before the regulars spoiled the serenity of the morning. The Pacific Ocean was remarkably calm today, the salty water lazily caressing the golden sand in continuous, liquid handshakes.

The drive to discover something new might bring Frank to Laguna Beach, but it was this tranquility that kept him going on slow mornings like today. 

He stepped over a tangled knot of seaweed, breathed in the briny air.

He was inclined to keep going, to head further along the shore when something in the seaweed caught his eye.

Something white.

Frank’s first thought was that it was a shell of some sort.

Maybe part of a conch that some greedy critter had managed to break open to get at the meat inside.

Frank crouched, bent down.

No, not a shell, he thought. Not one like I’ve ever seen, anyway.

He brushed some of the slimy vegetation aside.

Frank instantly felt a chill pass through him.

It wasn’t a shell, but a bone.

He’d come across plenty of bones during his searches. Whale bones, bones from half-eaten fish. Once, Frank had found the skull of a small dog.

But this was none of those things.

Frank cautiously picked it up.

Just under ten inches in length, the bone gleamed white. Not a shred of meat or sinew on it.

His breathing intensified as he turned it over in his hand.

It wasn’t a whale bone, he knew.

It was a human femur.

And there was an engraving etched in it.

PART I – Laguna Beach

Chapter 1

“Agents Frost and Hale? Can I see you in my office, please?”

Alex Frost blinked and rubbed her eyes. She must have dozed off.

How long have I been sitting here, staring at my computer? An hour? Two?

Impossible to know.

Alex adjusted her dark hair in a ponytail and got up from her chair. Her body ached from sitting for so long, her back creaking nearly as much as the chair.

Twenty-four going on eighty, she thought.

“Hey, uhh, you know what this is about?”

Alex glanced at her partner.

Agent Chris Hale was fat, with a doughy face and wide-set eyes. An owl with jowls.

“No, I—”

“You think it’s a new case? How long has it been since our last one? Six weeks? Seven? I’m getting kinda squirrelly, you know?”

Alex let the man drone on, knowing that no matter what she said, he would continue to speak until he was finished. If he finished.

How long had it been since they’d been given a case? A real case? Alex wondered as she walked across the Orange County FBI Field Office toward her boss’ door.

She didn’t know. Her world—her life—had been divided into two parts: before Mexico and after Mexico.

Mexico…

Alex shuddered.

“… so? What do you think?”

Alex only caught the tail end of what Chris Hale was saying.

“I have no idea.”

She knocked on the door and stepped back.

The sign that had once read ‘Marcus Allen’ had since been peeled off, leaving behind a few patches in the white paint where the glue had gotten stuck.

She rarely thought of the ex-Special Agent in Charge of the OC office, but she did now.

Wondered if the man’s life, like hers, had also been stratified by before and after Mexico.

She expected so, given that Marcus Allen’s lack of action when it came to a missing FBI Agent and a civilian on the other side of the border had cost him his job and his reputation.

Alex felt her lips turn downward in a frown.

This didn’t seem like a harsh enough punishment.

A heavy cost, to be sure, but now, Marcus was probably out there somewhere, working a cush job at a security firm for some rich asshole or maybe for one of the studios in Hollywood, while her ex-partner, her mentor, Constantine Striker was dead.

“He said to enter,” Chris informed Alex.

She tried her best to dampen her scowl as she opened the door.

No matter how long it had been since Marcus Allen’s last appearance in the office, she still expected to see him sitting behind his desk. Stupid man bun on his head, shuffling stacks of blank pages with his thin hands.

But it wasn’t Marcus; it was interim Special Agent in Charge Ryan Jackson. A thin black man, bald, with high cheek bones. Kinda reminded Alex of the late Lance Reddick from The Wire and John Wick.

“Please, take a seat.”

Alex and Hale obliged, the latter struggling to squeeze his girth into the average-sized chair.

She didn’t mind Ryan, thought he was a reasonable boss, especially on a temporary basis. But her opinion of anybody who sat in Marcus Allen’s chair was inevitably going to be sour, rouse not-so-friendly emotions.

“Early this morning, a beachcomber found a human bone washed up on the shore of Laguna Beach,” Ryan said, without preamble.

“What kind of bone?” Alex asked. She matched the man’s no-nonsense approach with similar curtness.

“Femur. Based on the size and shape, it’s assumed to belong to a girl of maybe eight or nine years of age.”

Alex sucked in a sharp breath.

“The beachcomber brought it to a local museum,” Ryan continued. “They have a lab there, did some preliminary testing. The curator thinks that the bone was in the water for at least six months. Maybe even longer.”

Alex felt Chris’s buggy eyes on her but resisted the urge to look over at him.

“Sounds like a job for the local PD or the Sheriff’s department,” Chris suggested, as Alex expected he would.

Agent Hale wasn’t lazy, at least not when it came to his work—his physical condition was a different story—but the man, greener than even Alex, still had a jaded notion of what being an FBI Agent entailed.

They’d both been partners with Constantine Striker, but the one case that Chris had been involved in, prior to Con begging for the man to be cut loose and subsequently teaming up with Alex, had mainly consisted of hobnobbing with shady Hollywood types.

Alex’s own experience, minimal as it was—although infinitely more in-depth than Chris Hale’s half-case—had been incredibly varied.

And deadly.

“Given the bone’s proximity to the shore, it most likely washed up from one of the Channel Islands. Most of these are either military-controlled or protected, which makes this case a federal one. Now, if you don’t want to—”

“We’ll take it,” Alex interrupted.

“But—”

“We’ll take the case,” Alex repeated, this time cutting her partner off.

Ryan Jackson nodded. “Good. They’re waiting for you at the Laguna Marine Heritage Shelter. Keep me updated.”

Chapter 2

The Laguna Marine Heritage Museum was about a forty-minute drive from the OC field office. Forty-minutes… and Chris Hale didn’t stop talking the entire time.

Alex recalled one of the last things that Con had said to her, just before she took off to Mexico and him following without any of them knowing.

Chris Hale never shuts up.

At the time, Alex had thought that Con was being unduly harsh, as had been his usual temperament.

But he hadn’t lied.

Chris Hale talked and talked and talked.

He started by praising Laguna Beach, speaking at length about the white sand beaches, the calm surf. Next, his focus switched to the Pacific Ocean, how warm it was in the summer. Then, the islands. How, once, as a boy, his parents had taken him out on a fishing charter and… and… and…

The Laguna Beach Heritage Museum was a beautiful building, mostly dark glass, and sharp angles. The moment Alex stepped out of her car, she could smell the ocean.

The man they were looking for, Andrew Denishen, met them in the museum’s well-lit lobby. He was accompanied by a Deputy from the Orange County Sheriff’s Department. They could have been twins, or at the very least, brothers.

Both were skinny with wispy gray hair—the Deputy’s only barely visible from beneath his hat. Caucasian, sunburned faces.

Besides the uniform, the only real way to tell them apart was that Andrew was a pair of round, gold-framed spectacles.

“Are you FBI Agents Frost and Hale?”

“Frost,” Alex said, pointing at herself first, then aimed her finger at Chris. “Hale.”

They all shook hands.

“I’m Deputy Paul Denishen and this is Andrew.”

There you go: they were brothers.

“If you’ll please come with me, I can show you the femur.”

The museum appeared to be open to the public, but at this early hour, there were but a few people milling around, their eyes locked on glass-covered displays housing everything from the skeletal remains of prehistoric fish to rare crustacean shells.

Andrew led them into an employee-only area.

“Hey, do you guys still have the Megalodon tooth on display?” Hale asked as they walked down the hallway.

“Yes, of course,” Andrew said, his voice brimming with excitement. “We actually have a second one coming to us from Carlsbad.”

“Really? When is it due to arrive? I would love to see it.”

“Two weeks. I’m trying to convince the higher-ups to do a grand showing. I have an idea for an interactive virtual display. Everyone knows about Great White sharks thanks to Jaws, but I don’t think anyone truly appreciates just how massive Megalodons were.” Andrew chuckled to himself. “If people were scared to go in the water before… imagine how far they’d stay from the beach if they knew that Megalodons, which are three times as large as the biggest Great White, might still be out there. It’s… it’s all very exciting.”

Alex noticed Deputy Denishen roll his eyes and she couldn’t help but smile.

Hale and Andrew were still nerding out about the Megalodon when the latter unlocked a door to a private office at the end of the hall.

He proudly waved a hand over the entrance and indicated for them to enter.

The room was surprisingly large, lined with a myriad of high-tech equipment most of which Alex thought belonged in a university chemistry lab rather than a heritage museum.

She recognized a microscope but that was pretty much it.

Chris Hale, on the other hand, was in heaven.

“Is that an energy-dispersive X-ray spectroscopy scanning electron microscope?” the man asked giddily as he hurried to one corner of the room.

This was not the microscope Alex had identified. The object her partner was fawning over resembled an oversized gaming computer, and none of the technical jargon Hale had just spouted made any sense to her, except for the word “microscope.” Given the unfamiliar nature of the machine, however, she was starting to wonder if the term had taken on a different meaning since her university days just a few years ago.

“Ah, yes. Just got it in. Top of the line.” Hale whistled. “I used it this morning to determine how long the bone had been in the ocean.”

While Andrew started going over the specs with Hale, Alex pulled the deputy aside.

“He always like this?” she asked under her breath.

Deputy Denishen smiled.

“Ever since he was a kid.”

“The best part about the machine is that it’s non-destructive, which means—”

“Excuse me?” Alex said, raising her voice. “Don’t mean to interrupt, but can we see the bone, now?”

Andrew turned around, adjusted his glasses.

“Yes, of course. Sorry—sometimes I get carried away.”

Andrew walked over to an adjacent table.

“This is it,” he said, indicating a plastic enclosure about half the size of a beer fridge. “I didn’t want the air to oxidize the bone, so I’ve kept it hermetically sealed since Frank brought it in. Oh, after examining it with the EDS-SEM, of course.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. She appreciated the man’s attention to detail but wasn’t sure why Andrew thought it necessary to hermetically seal a bone that had been in the ocean for upwards of six months.

“Now, I’m no forensic pathologist, but I did a little research while waiting for you guys to arrive. Based on the size and shape of the bone, I’ve concluded that it belonged to a biological female, between eight and ten years old.”

Alex peered through the plastic at the bone. It was so clean that it could have belonged to one of those fake skeletons they used in anatomy class. No barnacles, no growth of any kind dotted the pristine surface. The only thing that separated itself from a high-quality fake was the fact that it was slightly yellow.

“Who brought it in?” As she spoke, Alex found the zipper on the thick plastic and started to unzip it.

“I don’t think…” Andrew let his sentence trail off when Alex reached in and grabbed the bone with her bare hand.

The surface was smooth, and it was lighter than she’d expected.

She turned it over.

“Who brought it in?” she asked a second time.

It was the deputy who answered.

“Frank Vitrano. Local guy, likes to comb the beach for treasures. Nice guy.”

“Friend of mine,” Andrew piped up. “Really nice guy.”

“Any priors?” Alex said, focusing on the deputy.

“Nope. Comes from a well-respected family. Once brought us a pistol he’d found on the beach.”

Alex nodded, focused her attention on the bone.

She found what she was looking for just below the ball joint, on the largest flat surface of the bone.

A symbol, about two inches tall:

O

/|\

The lines were relatively straight, but the circle wasn’t perfect.

Definitely not machine-made.

“Ah, yes, that,” Andrew said. “Let me pull it up on the monitor for you to get a better look.”

As the man started up the computer next to the plastic enclosure, Alex said, “Any chance that this was made by some sort of predator? A crab maybe.”

Andrew stopped what he was doing and looked at her.

“What?” she asked, confused.

Hale leaned close.

“Frost, if a crab had made those lines, they’d be curved.”

Alex pressed her lips together.

“Well, silly me.”

“Agent Hale is right,” Andrew said, exchanging a knowing look with her partner. “Moreover, the engraving would be more serrated. And there’s no evidence of crushing. Crabs have two claws, one for—”

“If a predator didn’t make this mark, then what did?” Alex asked.

Andrew pushed his glasses up his nose.

“A human,” he said matter-of-factly. “I think someone deliberately carved this into the bone.”

Chapter 3

“Well? What do you think?” Tate asked.

Chase chewed three more times and swallowed.

“It’s…”

“Be honest, okay?”

Chase didn’t need her husband’s permission to tell the truth; she prided herself on being honest.

She never really understood the type of woman who asked their husband a question—Do I look fat in this dress? What do you think of my new haircut? Does it suit me?—and then get upset when the answer came.

Why even ask if you couldn’t handle the reply?

Chase was always honest with Tate and expected him to be the same. It was the basis of their relationship.

“The flavors are good but it’s… too salty,” she said, placing the burrito down on the plate in front of her.

Tate frowned and ran a finger across his mustache.

“You sure?”

Chase didn’t reply and Tate scooped the burrito off her plate. He took a bite, chewed.

Ever since his trip to Mexico, Tate had been on a Mexican food binge. Tried every night to whip up some new concoction or another. Chase didn’t particularly mind, hell it saved her from cooking, but now that his new culinary exploits had overflown into their work lunches, she was becoming a little fatigued of all the queso, pico de gallo, and picante sauces.

Mexico… it didn’t help that Chase was still pissed off at her husband for the risks he’d taken down south.

No, pissed wasn’t a strong enough word to express how she felt about Tate’s ‘adventure’.

Two months ago, Tate’s ex-partner Constantine Striker, the man whom he’d worked with to bring down The Sandman back when Chase was still in diapers, reached out to Director Stitts.

An FBI agent and her friend had gone to Mexico for a vacation and never returned. FBI Agent Alex Frost, a young upstart who had scored top marks on pretty much every test imaginable in the Academy, just happened to be best friends with the missing FBI Agent. Not only that, but she had been Striker’s partner before he’d been cut loose from the Bureau.

Stitts had approved Tate’s request to join Agent Frost in Mexico. Chase had, of course, wanted to join, but Director Stitts had unequivocally denied, claiming that she needed to remain behind with Linus to continue the CVU’s mandate.

Chase had protested but the Director had assured her that Frost and Tate were only doing recon.

Chase should have known better. When was the last time anything they did could be classified as ‘recon’?

Things had gone bad.

Fast.

Tate and Frost had managed to rescue one of the missing girls, the FBI agent, but not without considerable losses.

Constantine Striker, now just a civilian, had followed her husband to Mexico. According to reports he’d been brutally murdered by Los Cuervos Negros, a brutally violent Mexican cartel.

Frost’s civilian friend had also been killed, as had one of the agents on the ground, FBI Agent Santiago. A DEA Agent on Los Cuervos’ payroll who had set them up.

He’d been murdered, too, although the details surrounding his death were shrouded in mystery.

All this, Chase only knew because some talking head cunt on TV had spilled the details. Tate had come home in a state of shock, which had only been exacerbated by Constantine Striker’s funeral back in Orange County.

Chase didn’t know if this whole ‘Mexican cooking obsession’ was a bizarre form of PTSD she’d never heard of before, but, clearly, what had gone down in Mexico had affected Tate in a bad way.

“You’re right. Too salty.”

Tate placed the burrito on Chase’s plate and made a face.

“What’s going on with you?” Chase asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Ever since you got back, you’ve—”

“Adams? Abernathy?”

Chase turned her head around and glanced at the CVU’s open office door.

Director Stitts leaned on his cane as he peered in at them.

“Where’s Linus?” the man asked, his eyes darting to the empty chair.

“He went out for lunch. What’s going on?” Tate asked.

“Something just came across my desk, thought you guys might be interested.”

Chase sat up in her chair.

“What is it?”

“The femur of a ten-year-old girl just washed up on shore. It—”

“On shore?” Chase interrupted. They were in landlocked Virginia. There was no ‘shore’. “Where?”

“I was getting to that. Laguna Beach in Orange County.”

Now, Tate straightened.

“Is it Frost?”

Stitts nodded.

“Yes. Agent Frost called it in.”

Tate was already starting toward the door.

“Tate, hold on a second,” Chase said. As eager as she was to start a new case, she wasn’t keen on leaving Virginia so soon. They’d only just come back from Maple Hollow three months ago.

“If Frost is in trouble—”

“She’s not in trouble,” Stitts said. The man had an almost deity-like ability to keep his cool, but even he was having a hard time not letting his annoyance at being continually interrupted from flashing across his handsome face. “Like I said, a bone from a young girl washed up on shore. Agent Frost is getting it analyzed in the Heritage Museum and her partner is looking into missing persons.”

“How old is the bone?” Chase asked.

“Best estimate is that it’s been in the water for six months.”

“Alright.” Tate looked at her expectantly. “Sounds like a case for the CVU.”

Not exactly, Chase thought.

“Stitts, can you give us a moment?”

“Sure. I’ll be in my office when you make a decision.”

Chase waited for the director to walk away, leaning on his cane as he went.

“What’s wrong?” Tate asked when they were alone.

“Nothing. Just… you don’t owe her anything, you know that?”
Tate made a face.

“What do you mean?”

“Tate, I’m not stupid. I know you think you owe Agent Frost something for what happened in Mexico. I wish you’d talk to me about it, but I understand.”

“Then you know why I want to go.”

“Yeah, that’s the thing. I know why you want to go. I also know what happens when emotions get too high during a case. So do you.”

Tate crossed his arms over his chest.

“I don’t need a lecture, Chase.”

“And I’m not giving you one.”

“Then let’s go. How many times have I gone on a case because you wanted to?”

Chase recoiled.

“Woah, relax. I’m not trying to start a fight here.”

“Sure seems like you are.”

“And it seems to me that you only want to take this case because it involves Agent Frost. I know you feel guilty—”

“You’re wrong,” Tate said flatly.

“I don’t think so.”

“You are. This isn’t about Agent Frost. It’s about Con.” Chase cocked her head as Tate continued. “And, yeah, maybe I want to take this case because I feel guilty about what happened to him. After all, I was with Con when he fell apart chasing The Sandman. And what did I do? I left. He was my friend, my mentor. And I just fucking left him. So, if I can help out his new partner, make sure she’s okay, then what’s wrong with that?”

Chase knew quite a bit about Tate’s past, about what had happened all those years ago in Orange County.

Con Striker had gone off the rails, obsessed with finding out what happened to his sister, one of The Sandman’s presumed victims. He’d gone down a dark path and it had cost him everything.

Including his life.

The similarities between what had happened to Con and what Chase had also gone through were too obvious to ignore.

“It’s not your fault,” Chase repeated, shaking her head. She was channeling her inner Dr. Matteo now, the FBI-appointed psychiatrist who had helped her emerge from a dark place of her own.

“Yeah, well—”

“It’s not your fault, but we’ll take the case. And this time, I’m going with you.”

Chapter 4

After placing the call to Quantico, Frost sent Hale out to fetch Frank Vitrano, the man who had discovered the bone. She’d also spoken to a colleague back at the field office to look into missing persons who matched the age and gender of the victim.

In the meantime, she picked Andrew Denishen’s brain on where he thought the bone might have come from.

After a long diatribe about how prolonged exposure to saltwater affects the mineral composition of bone and how the movement of water over the surface polished the femur, he concluded that the bone must have been in the ocean for at least six months.

This, the man had already informed her twice and didn’t answer her question.

Alex, used to Agent Hale rambling on ad nauseam for hours, had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from cutting in.

She did, however, shoot a few eye rolls in Deputy Denishen’s direction.

The man mirrored the expression.

She liked Deputy Paul Denishen and it felt good to share a little humor despite the circumstances. After what had happened to Con, Emma, Tori, and, to a lesser degree, herself, Alex found it difficult to see humor in much of anything anymore.

“Right, but any idea where it might have come from?”

“That… is a complicated question.”

Another eye roll.

Why am I not surprised?

“Best guess?”

Andrew adjusted his spectacles.

“Well…” he let this hang while he rummaged through a stack of papers on one of the many desks in the large office. It took the man a good five minutes to produce several maps of Laguna Beach, the surrounding ocean waters, and nearby islands.

“These are tidal current maps,” Andrew explained, pointing out the arrows in the water, complete with numbers that Alex suspected were related to flow speed. “This one here…” Andrew pulled a map from the stack and laid it on top. “… is from six months ago.”

He stepped back and nodded as if Alex should know what the hell she was looking at and would be able to answer her own query.

She did not and could not. Before she could say as much, however, the deputy stepped up.

“Andy, we’re not oceanographers. Please, speak to us as if we’re in kindergarten.”

“Welllll, I’m just an amateur tidal hydrodynamicist,” Andrew said. Alex figured that anyone who referred to themselves as a ‘tidal hydrodynamicist’—whatever the hell that was—was anything but an amateur, but she, once again, bit her tongue. “Judging by these currents… I’d say that the ‘best guess’, as you put it, Agent Frost, would have to be either San Clemente Island, San Nicolas Island, Santa Rosa Island, or Santa Barbara Island. Or…” he trailed off again, which Alex was starting to think of as some sort of annoying trademark.

“Or what?” Alex asked.

“Or, another option, is that the bone was just thrown overboard pretty much anywhere… here.” Andrew waved his hand over a large expanse of open water that encompassed the four islands that he’d already identified.

“Great, so you’re telling me that the bone could have come from pretty much anywhere.”

“Uhh, yeah.”

Alex made a face.

“What’s on these islands?”

“San Clemente and San Nicolas are owned by the Navy; Santa Catalina is a popular tourist island—Catalina Island Conservancy manages almost the entire island—while Santa Rosa is managed by the National Park Service.”

This just keeps getting better and better, Alex thought.

She leaned back and stretched.

“What do you think?” Deputy Denishen asked her.

“What do I think? I think that we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“And your colleagues from Quantico? They going to come in and lend a hand? If not, I can get more men out here.”

“I’m still waiting to hear back. Let’s hold off on—” the door opened behind them, and they all turned. “—on getting more of the Sheriff’s department involved.”

“Found Frank on the beach,” Agent Hale said. “He said he was just walking the area, looking for more bones.”

A man stepped out from behind Hale and Alex sucked in a breath. For a split-second, she thought it was Con.

They had similar dark hair and dark eyes.

The illusion quickly vanished.

The man was thicker than Con, and he lacked his characteristic widow’s peak.

Not to mention the fact that Con was dead.

“Hi, I’m Frank.”

The man was soft-spoken but stared her directly in the eyes.

“You found the bone?” Alex asked. She knew this to be the case but wanted to hear the man speak. Con had taught her that you learned much more from listening rather than talking. This might seem obvious to most, but the vast majority of people established their worth in a conversation by the quantity rather than the quality of words that left their mouths. 

“I did.”

Alex nodded, encouraging the man to continue and he obliged.

“I walk the beach every morning before anyone else is up. Usually, I find a couple of rare shells, nothing really that interesting. But if I do find something, I bring it here to Andrew. I found an engagement ring not too long ago, had a hell of a time tracking down its owner.”

“Don’t forget that perfect Olive Snail shell you gave us,” Andrew said with an appreciative nod.

Andrew might know about the Channel Islands, Megalodon teeth, scanning… whatever microscopes, and ocean currents, but he didn’t know criminals the way Alex did.

The curator had claimed that the bone drifted ashore, but there was another option. After soaking the femur, Frank could have placed the bone on the beach himself or pretended to.

It wouldn’t be the first time that a sociopathic narcissist provided the local authorities with clues hinting at their own crimes.

“Tell me a little more about how you found the bone,” Alex pressed.

“Not much to say, really. I was just combing the beach like I do every day. Found it tangled in a nest of seaweed. Thought it was a shell at first based on the color,” Frank shrugged as he finished his sentence.

“Anybody around at that time?” Deputy Denishen asked.

“No. I was alone.”

Alex caught no hint of deception in the man’s answers but needed to be sure.

“Mr. Vitrano, before today, have you ever seen the bone before?”

“Seen it before?” The man’s dark brow furrowed. “No, of course not. I just found it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Am I… am I in trouble here? I thought I was doing the right thing by bringing the bone to the museum.”

Deputy Denishen deferred to Alex.

She sighed.

She wanted Frank to be involved in some capacity other than as a random passerby. It would just be so much easier that way.

The idea of having to search miles of islands and waterways was overwhelming.

“No, you did the right thing,” she relented. “Thank you for bringing the bone to the museum. Just… stick around for a little while, would you?”

Alex’s cell rang and she pulled it out.

“Of course… I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

She answered her phone and said a few words. Listened.

Hung up.

Then Alex immediately pointed at Agent Hale.

“We got a hit on a missing person. Let’s go.”

Chapter 5

The one good thing about Chris Hale never shutting up is that the man was physically averse to skimping on details.

And details mattered.

Con had taught Alex that, too.

“Kirsta Jankovish. Nine years old when she went missing ten months ago. Her mother Cheryl reported that she, her daughter, and her husband Ivor, went swimming in the early morning of March 10th at Laguna Beach. While she dozed on a beach chair, Ivor took Kirsta for a swim. She never saw either of them again.”

Alex took this in as Hale continued talking.

“The Sheriff’s Department and the Coast Guard searched the ocean near the beach, never found their bodies. Was officially pronounced dead eight weeks later.”

“Insurance policy?” Alex asked.

“Yes,” Hale confirmed. “Ten thousand for Kirsta and five for Ivor.”

Alex continued to follow the GPS instructions toward Cheryl Jankovish’s home.

“You’re a local, right?”

“Yep—born in Orange County and lived here my entire life. Was in the LAPD before—”

“What’s the weather like in early March?”

“Cold. Mid-fifties, I’d say. Fluctuates between—”

“What about the water?”

“Bit warmer. Mid-sixties.”

Having grown up in New York, Alex knew cold water. After her mother had died, her dad had taken her on a little camping adventure about an hour north of New York City to Fahnestock State Park. The water had been frigid, early sixties, if that. She’d gone in with her father, enjoyed the shock.

But something about the people in California struck her as different, less comfortable being uncomfortable. A stereotype, to be sure, but…

“Do people actually swim at Laguna Beach in March?”

Hale chuckled.

“Sure, they do. We call them tourists.”

Alex didn’t share in her partner’s amusement.

“The Jankovish’s were locals, right?”

“I mean, Cheryl and Ivor moved here from Ukraine when they were in their early twenties. They’re not local locals if you know what I mean, but considering that Cheryl is now thirty-six, I think they’d qualify as—”

“So, why were they swimming at Laguna Beach in March?”

This, at long last, got Chris Hale to shut up.

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at Cheryl’s home. It was neglected and rundown. The modest single-story home featured a peeling paint exterior, a torn screen door hanging from only one hinge, and a cracked concrete stoop that was littered with cigarette butts.

She looked at Hale but neither said a word.

Her partner did start breathing a little more heavily, though. He could be nervous, or just exhausting himself trying to hoist his bulk out of the car.

The struggle was real.

Alex predictably made it to the door first and waited for Chris to join her before knocking.

“What do you want?” a hoarse, androgynous voice hollered from within.

“FBI. We have a couple of questions to ask you about your husband and daughter.”

At first, her words were met with only silence from inside the house. Then Alex heard movement.

She knocked again.

“Mrs. Jankovish?”

“Coming.”

It doesn’t sound as if the woman was coming.

It sounded as if she was going, her voice not quite as loud as before.

“Go ‘round back,” she whispered to Hale.

The man nodded, sending his many chins into an infinite jiggle, then he nearly fell off the stoop before starting around the side of the house.

“Just a minute!”

“Hurry, Hale!” Alex hissed.

The man was too fucking slow.

Alex heard the creak of a door opening and bolted, heading in the opposite direction as Hale.

Unlike her partner, who seemed incapable of running, Alex bolted down the side of the house.

She spotted the woman the second she entered the unfenced backyard.

Sporting only a thin, ratty nightgown, the woman had long, greasy dark hair that ran halfway down the back of her cream, probably once white, outfit.

“Hey! Stop!” Alex yelled, pumping her arms and legs furiously. “Stop!”

The woman had no intention of stopping and, deep down, Alex was glad.

She reached the emaciated woman in only two dozen strides, if that, and reached out. Alex wrapped her fingers around the back of Cheryl’s thin neck and shoved her to the ground. Her momentum carried her forward and they both fell.

The grass was overgrown, the soil beneath it soft.

Unlike the woman, Alex managed to brace herself.

She landed harmlessly on her elbows while Cheryl landed face-first in the grass.

Alex wasted no time collecting herself, rolled over, and placed a knee on the woman’s spine.

“Stay down,” she warned as she wrenched Cheryl’s arms behind her and applied the cuffs.

Cheryl raised her head and spat grass.

“You bitch.”

“I’ve been called worse. Now, get up.”

The woman squirmed beneath her.

“Suit yourself.”

Alex had no problem hauling the thin woman to her feet. She cried out as her wrists were forced upward to the middle of her back.

“What—what happened?” Hale asked, finally arriving at her side.

Alex frowned, thrust the woman toward Hale.

Cheryl spat, just missed Hale with an offensive yellow glob.

“Why’d you run, Cheryl?” Alex asked.

“Fuck you.”

The woman had a face like a catcher’s mitt. It was so lined and weathered that Alex thought they might have made a mistake. During the car ride over, Hale had mentioned that Cheryl was thirty-two years old.

This woman looked to be in her late fifties.

“You are Cheryl Jankovish, are you not?”

“I ain’t saying shit.”

The woman started to turn, and this time Alex let her.

In addition to her wrinkled face and bony frame, the next most obvious thing about her was the smattering of purple and blue dots on the inside of her arms.

This explained why Cheryl looked twenty years older than what was listed on her driver’s license.

“Hale, you stay with her.”

Hale mumbled something as Alex started back toward the house.

“Hey!” Cheryl screamed once she realized where Alex was headed. “You can’t go into my house without a warrant!”

She was right, of course. The fact that the woman had run did not meet the burden of probable cause to enter her home. Neither did the myriad of track marks on her pale skin.

But Alex didn’t intend on entering.

The back door, which was in worse shape than the front, hung open and Alex had a clear view of the interior. There was garbage everywhere; on the floor, covering every inch of counter space.

Flies danced on the dishes piled high in the sink.

Even though Alex was still standing outside, the smell wafting toward her was terrible.

“You can’t go in!” Cheryl, hysterical now, screamed.

Alex continued to scan the interior.

A smile crossed her lips when she spotted the litany of drug paraphernalia on the table in the TV room.

She immediately pulled out the phone and called Deputy Paul Denishen.

“Agent Frost? Did you locate Cheryl Jankovish?”

“I did. And now I’m going to need a warrant.”

Chapter 6

Deputy Denishen came through in record time. With Cheryl now thrashing in the back of Alex’s car, he arrived with warrant in hand.

“Did you ask her about her daughter?”

“Didn’t get the chance. She ran as soon as we knocked.”

Denishen looked over his shoulder at Cheryl.

She stared back, spat on Alex’s closed window, and snarled.

“Cute lady,” he remarked.

“Indeed.”

He passed her the warrant, and Alex gave it a quick once over.

“You want to do the honors?”

“We’ll do it together.”

They walked to the front door and Alex carefully pulled it open. The smell was worse now and she grimaced and swallowed.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any masks in your car, would you?” Alex asked the deputy.

“I don’t. But I can ask another deputy to bring some by.”

“Naw, don’t bother.” Alex hiked the front of her shirt up over her mouth and nose. The deputy did the same and they entered the Jankovish home.

Alex performed a little dance to avoid stepping on fast food wrappers as she moved toward the table.

“Man, it smells bad in here,” Denishen grumbled, his voice muffled from the uniform covering his face.

There were at least a half dozen insulin syringes on the table, all uncapped. Some of the needles were bent at odd angles. There was also a blackened spoon, two yellow Bic lighters, and a piece of foil paper marred with dark smears.

What Alex didn’t see were any actual drugs, the minute quantity of toxic liquid clinging to the inside walls of the syringes notwithstanding.

No baggies, no powder, no rocks.

When the woman had run, an opinion of her hand formed in Alex’s mind. This had been reinforced first by the needle marks, then by the garbage, then again by the drug paraphernalia.

Now, Alex took a step back and reassessed the situation.

Cheryl’s daughter and husband had drowned after going for a spring swim at Laguna Beach, while she slept on a lounger nearby.

What had happened to Tori and Emma had affected Alex profoundly, there was no denying that. She still had nightmares about Corvus, the cartel hitman who had carved up her friend Tori’s foot and had eaten her raw flesh in front of her.

Alex had so far managed to avoid resorting to drugs or alcohol to numb these memories, to eradicate these dreams, but she was well aware that many people succumbed to these urges.  She’d seen this firsthand during her short tenure as a cop.

Most of the assholes in her precinct had been functional alcoholics.

“Agent Frost? You okay?”

Alex shook her head to clear her thoughts.

“Fine. I don’t see any drugs here.”

Denishen lowered his head to look beneath the table. In the process, his shirt slipped from his face, and he gagged.

“Fuck.”

The deputy stood upright and quickly pulled his shirt over his face.

“No drugs under there.”

Alex sighed. When she inhaled, the foul stench filled her lungs and now it was Alex’s turn to gag.

“Let’s go back outside.”

“Don’t need to ask me twice.”

Denishen beat her out of the house.

Both of them lowered their shirts and gulped in fresh air.

“Let’s talk to her,” Alex suggested.

Hale, who had elected not to follow them into Cheryl’s home, hiked up his 46” pants as they neared.

“You’re going to have to get your car detailed, Agent Frost.”

Gee, thanks, Hale.

Cheryl hissed, then banged her head against the glass.

A red welt immediately started to form at the point of impact.

“Mrs. Jankovish, I’m going to need you to calm down,” Alex said. This was met by another hiss and another unsightly glob of spit in the inside of her window.

“Mrs. Jankovish, we’re not here about the drugs.”

“I don’t got no fuckin’ drugs, you bitch.”

At least this was better than more spit.

“Okay, fine—but this isn’t about that. This is about your daughter.”

Alex focused her gaze on Cheryl’s pinprick pupils.

No reaction.

“What about her? I told the cops everything I know. My asshole husband took her swimming, and the fucker couldn’t swim.”

It was only now that Alex realized she’d fucked up. Once Frank had given him the bone, Andrew had called his brother at the OC Sheriff’s Department. Believing that the bone had washed ashore from federal waters, Deputy Denishen had then called the FBI. He’d allowed her to take over the case without hesitation.

And when her colleague at the FBI had matched the description, rudimentary as it was, to a missing girl, Alex had jumped on it.

But she hadn’t thought things through.

Coming here, to Cheryl Jankovish’s house, had been a spur-of-the-moment thing.

And Hale hadn’t said a word.

And why would he? She was the senior officer.

Ha, senior officer.

Marcus Allen might have been let go months ago, but the man’s fingerprints were still all over the OC Field Office.

Alex Frost was in no way, shape, or form, experienced enough to lead a team let alone an investigation on her own. Con had taught her well, but there was only so much a person could learn from six months in the field.

And now what was she supposed to do?

What was she supposed to say?

I’m so sorry Cheryl, but we found a thigh bone from someone we think might be your daughter. Do you mind coming to the museum and looking at the bone to see if it belonged to Kirsta? Oh, while you’re at it, any idea what the symbol that has been carved into it might mean?

Alex sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and bit down. She tasted blood.

“Agent Frost?” Deputy Denishen probed.

Alex felt heat rise in her cheeks.

She felt like an idiot.

An image of Tori flashed in her mind, not hanging from the soccer goal post in Mexico, her foot flayed, but in the hospital.

In this vision, one of the myriad of machines hooked up to her best friend beeped and Alex returned to the present.

“The reason why we came to you today, is because a bone washed up on Laguna Beach early this morning. We think it might be your daughters.”

“Wh-what?”

“A bone—”

“It didn’t come from my yard.”

Alex shook her head.

“No, not your yard—it washed up on shore. Mrs. Jankovish, would you be willing to give a DNA sample to match to the bone?”

Alex cringed. Everything that came out of her mouth sounded dispassionate and, quite frankly, wrong.

“It ain’t my daughter’s.”

“Right, but do you—”

“And you ain’t gettin’ my DNA, bitch.”

“Mrs. Ja—”

Alex jumped back when Cheryl smashed her head against the window again, this time smearing her own saliva all over her face.

Shaking her head, Alex retreated even further.

Deputy Denishen joined her.

“Hey, can we… can we do that?”

“Do what?”

“Compare the DNA?”

Alex sighed.

“I’m going to be honest with you, Deputy Denishen; I have no fucking idea. And I have no fucking idea what I’m doing.”

Chapter 7

Instead of judging her, or even cracking a smile, Deputy Denishen, who had to be at least twenty years older than Alex, just nodded.

“No worries, we’ll figure this out.”

Hale, who had also overheard, waddled over.

“I can call Andrew at the museum, see if he can get some DNA from the bone.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Alex felt relief wash over her. Con had never been openly vulnerable and had only very rarely opened up to her in private.

Maybe if he had, things would have been different. If only he’d let someone in, really let them in, told them how much his sister’s disappearance had weighed on him, the man might have gotten the help he needed.

Alex was embarrassed but felt slightly liberated, too.

“Did you find what Cheryl said strange?” Deputy Denishen asked as Hale got on the phone.

“I guess.” Alex didn’t remember exactly what the woman had said, only knew that it involved plenty of curses and copious amounts of saliva. “But she’s high and messed up.”

“Yeah, I know.” Denishen scratched the back of his neck. “But… it didn’t come from my yard? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Really? She said that?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re right, that is weird. What do we know about Cheryl?”

“Cashed in some modest life insurance policies after her husband and daughter were pronounced dead. She also—”

“I know all that. What about before?”

According to Hale, the Jankovish’s had gone swimming on that fateful day ten months ago. Could the woman have deteriorated this much in just ten months?

Or had the addiction started earlier?

“I’m not sure. I’ll pull up her file.”

As the deputy began scrolling on his phone, Alex turned her attention to her car.

Cheryl was rocking back and forth, no longer angry, just agitated. Either very high or already going through withdrawals.

Alex sighed again and massaged her temples. Her fingertips came back slick with sweat.

“Hey,” Hale said, tucking his phone out of sight as he waddled over, “so, uhh, Andrew at the museum said that seawater contains magnesium and…” Hale paused and looked to the left, a telltale sign that he was trying to remember. “…calcium. These catalyze the DNA in the bone, gradually replacing them. The sea water also hydrolyzes the DNA into smaller fragments and even using next-gen sequencing—”

“Hale, please.” Alex didn’t like the whine that tainted her voice but couldn’t help it. She just… couldn’t do this right now. Hale’s long pedantic answers.

“Sorry. The short answer? No. Andrew doesn’t think that he can get any viable DNA from the bone.”

“Fuck.”

Hale held up one finger.

“But—but he is doing some work on the engraving. Trying to compare it to symbols found in other languages. He’s also using that fancy EDS-SEM machine to try to figure out what made the engravings.”

“Good.”

Alex huffed, looked back at Cheryl.

The woman appeared to be gagging now and Alex winced. Hale was right about one thing: she was going to have to get the car’s interior detailed.

“Agent Frost?”

“Yes?”

Deputy Denishen held the phone out to her, but the text was too small for Alex to make it out.

The man realized this and said, “So, it looks like Cheryl has a bunch of drug-related priors. Possession, intoxicated in public, etc.”

No surprise there.

All eyes were on Cheryl now and Alex grimaced when the woman vomited on the seat beside her.

“When was the first arrest?” she asked.

“January of last year. Then about monthly thereafter. Something like that, anyway.”

Alex started to nod, then stopped herself.

“That’s before her daughter and husband went missing, isn’t it?”

Denishen double-checked something on his phone.

“That’s right.”

“What was her financial situation like? I mean, back then, in January?”

“That I can’t find out from my phone. Back at the station, I’ll be able to do a deeper dive. You want me to do that?”

“Yeah, might as well.”

Denishen nodded.

“What do you want to do with her?”

“What can we do?” Alex asked.

“Well, there’s more than enough residue in those syringes to charge her with possession,” Denishen remarked.

“And she also spat at me,” Hale said, his doughy face a mask of disgust. “That constitutes an assault on a federal officer.”

“But she didn’t actually hit you,” Alex remarked.

“Doesn’t matter, just the act of—”

“No, I know,” Alex said sharply. “It just seems… cheap.”

Both men stared at her expectantly and once more Alex felt the weight of being in charge.

“Bring her to the station but don’t charge her yet. Let’s dig into Cheryl’s past a little first. The last thing I want to do is throw this woman behind bars if she’s just grieving and not involved in anything more serious.”

“…bring her?” Hale questioned.

Alex reached into her pocket and pulled out her car keys.

“Yeah, bring her. I’m going with Deputy Denishen.”

Maybe being in charge wasn’t the worst thing in the world, after all.

***

Less than an hour later, back at the OC Sheriff’s Department Office, they had Cheryl Jankovish’s entire life laid out before them.

And what they’d discovered painted a very different picture than that of a distraught, grieving widow.

Cheryl’s drug problem started six months before her family went swimming. The initial report was a routine traffic stop for rolling a stop sign. The officer noted a strange, acrid smell coming from the car and found a hollowed-out pen with burn marks on the end. A roadside test, which is notoriously inaccurate and often thrown out in court, came back negative. Cheryl was given a warning and was given a drug rehab pamphlet.

The woman clearly didn’t pay this any heed.

A month after the traffic stop, she was arrested for possession of a controlled substance: heroin.

Cheryl was given six months’ probation.

The pattern continued, with Cheryl eventually spending thirty days in the local jail.

A deep dive into the Jankovish financial records showed that she’d liquidated all of their accounts and was presently overdue on her mortgage and several other bills.

To Alex, this demonstrated the sad yet predictable decline of an addict.

There was one charge from Ivor and Cheryl’s joint account, about a week before the swimming accident, that drew Alex’s eye.

Almost all of the transactions from the account were cash withdrawals using Cheryl’s card, but this was a bank transfer of $1,200 to a Rashid and Legendorf.

“What’s that?”

Denishen attacked his keyboard.

A moment later, he had the answer.

“Law firm in OC. Specializes in divorces. Can’t tell who made the transfer, Cheryl, or her husband. I can call, but I highly doubt that they’ll release that information.”

“Doesn’t matter. I think we both know that it must have been Ivor.”

Denishen agreed.

“So, we have a woman in a downward spiral of destruction. Cheryl gets hooked on drugs, spends all of her family’s money on her addiction. Ivor finds out, maybe he confronts her, maybe not. Decides to look into a divorce. Cheryl discovers this expense and gets angry, given that Ivor has wasted a considerable amount of the money she needs to fuel her habit. Gets pissed and… suggests a family swimming trip in the frigid waters of Laguna Beach?” Alex said, thinking out loud.

Deputy Denishen might be deferent in nature, but he wasn’t an idiot.

“Right. Gimme a second.”

He sifted through the documents spread out on the table, found what he was looking for.

“This is the police report,” he said, handing it to Alex.

She quickly read the details, her brow lowering with each additional sentence.

“What the hell?” She gave the report back to Denishen. “This seem weird to you?”

The deputy familiarized himself with the document.

“Very,” he admitted.

“Traffic cameras confirm that Ivor’s car went to the beach around six in the morning, and GPS cell phone data put both Cheryl’s and her husband’s phones in the area at about the same time,” Alex said. “Then, at around ten, she calls to report her husband and daughter missing… from her home landline. Why… why did she drive home to report them missing? Why not call from the beach?”

Denishen glanced at the report.

“Says here that her cell phone was dead.”

“So? They don’t have phones at Laguna Beach? Pay phones? Stores?”

Again, Denishen turned to the report for an answer.

“Three of the four pay phones in the area weren’t operational and the card reader on the fourth one was broken. Says here that Cheryl didn’t have any change on her.”

“What about stores?”

“It was six in the morning.”

“Right, not open yet. People, then? Might there have been people walking around, even at that hour?”

“That I don’t know. It was March and—”

“You know what? I think there is someone who might have that information. Denishen, give your brother a call. See if Frank is still at the museum.”

Chapter 8

“I keep detailed logs of all my morning walks,” Frank Vitrano informed them over the phone. “What was the exact date again?”

“March tenth of this year,” Denishen said.

“Okay, give me a second.”

They waited and listened as the man opened a drawer.

“What exactly am I looking for?”

The deputy was about to answer, but Alex shook her head. She didn’t want to prime Frank with information.

“Nothing in particular,” she lied.

Frank flipped through a notepad.

“Okay, I’ve got the date here… March 10th, 2024… yep, umm, nothing remarkable.”

“Damn. Okay—”

“Wait. I found a cell phone that day at around 8 A.M. An iPhone.”

Alex felt her blood surge.

“iPhone?”

“Yep. Black, model, uhh, iPhone 14.”

“Really?”

“Yes, ma’am. When I find something of value, I always put up trying to find the owner.”

“Did anyone claim it?”

“No. I mean, I had two people who said they lost their cell, but one reported the phone as being white, the other said it was an iPhone 15. No one else came forward.”

“You wouldn’t happen to still have the cell phone, would you?”

“Of course, I don’t throw anything out.”

Alex shot a look at Denishen.

“Think you can bring it into the Sheriff’s Department?”

“Sure thing. I can bring it in now.”

“That would be great,” Alex said. “Just one more thing, Frank. Your notes say anything about something strange happening that day?”

In her mind, Alex pictured a woman who woke up on the beach and discovered her family missing, the only reasonable explanation being that they’d swum out in the frigid waters. Maybe she sees them being pulled out by an undertow or rip current. Cheryl starts to scream for help, maybe even wades out into the water herself.

“No… no, no notes of anything special happening on the 10th.”

Alex shook her head.

“Was it busy?”

“Not sure, don’t typically record foot traffic in my notes. But it was March, and it was early. Still, there are usually a couple of the early risers out and about.”

Alex felt her lips pull downward and decided to change her approach a little.

“You didn’t see a woman, dark hair, kinda methed out, shouting about her missing husband and daughter?”

There was a short pause.

“I… I would have recorded something like that.”

“And nobody from the local PD or Sheriff’s department ever came to talk to you?”

“No. What’s… what’s this about?”

“Nothing. Thanks for your help, Frank. Please bring in the phone when you have a chance.”

“Will do. And—wait, did you say woman with dark hair? Strung out?”

Alex perked up.

“Yes.”

“Her name wouldn’t happen to be Cherry or Cheryl or—”

“Cheryl,” Alex interrupted.

“Well, I didn’t see a woman who fits that description on the tenth, but I did find an engagement ring sometime later. I posted a flier as I always do and a woman fitting that description came forward. It had an inscription in the band—B+A—but when I asked her what her name was, she started with a ‘Ch’ sound before changing her mind.”

Alex mulled this over, not sure what to make of it.

“Okay. Thanks.”

She hung up, looked at Denishen.

“What do you make of that?” she asked.

“I… don’t know.”

“Well, if the phone belongs to Ivor, then Frank was definitely on the beach that morning.”

“Right. And not only did he not see Cheryl going nuts, but she never asked to use his phone.”

Alex felt herself nodding her head and, feeling that she’d been doing this too much of late, forced herself to stop.

“And the whole engagement ring thing?”

Denishen shrugged.

“No idea.”

“Okay let’s go back to the report. Ivor’s car and Cheryl and Ivor’s phones were at the beach—GPS puts them there. According to her, her family goes for a swim, and she can’t call the police because her phone is dead. Can’t use the pay phones either and drives home to call the cops. What time was the call made?”

“Just after ten.”

“And Frank found the phone at eight. I’m guessing that if he saw Cheryl on the beach at that time, he would have asked her if it was hers, no?”

“Probably.”

“So, what was she doing between eight to ten? It’s only a twenty-minute drive from her beach to her house.”

“No idea.”

Alex sighed, another expression that she was in danger of overusing.

“The traffic camera footage, does it show who’s in the car?”

Denishen found the still images. Grainy, black and white. The real issue, however, was that the windows were too tinted to see inside.

Alex leaned away from the table.

“I don’t want to step on any toes, but this investigation seems super sus to me,” Alex said.

“Me, too.”

Alex decided to voice her thoughts.

“We don’t actually know if Ivor or Kirsta were even at the beach that morning. All we know for sure is that Ivor’s cell phone was there, which Cheryl could have brought with her and left behind.”

“And we have her strange behavior today, which may or may not be explained by her drug use.”

Alex agreed.

“You want to hear an alternative theory?”

“Sure.”

“Cheryl is pissed off because her husband used the money she’d earmarked for drugs for a divorce lawyer, knows about the insurance policies on their lives, and kills him and their daughter at home. Disposes of the bodies, then drives to the beach in Ivor’s car with his cell phone. Makes up a story of them going swimming and getting swept out to sea. Drives home, spends a couple of hours making sure there’s no evidence of the crime, then calls the cops.”

Denishen stared at her for so long that Alex grew uncomfortable.

“Just a thought.”

“I mean, I hate to say it,” Denishen said quietly, “but that makes more sense than what’s written on the police report.”

He flapped the sheets as he said this.

“So, why did the cops not consider this? And the insurance company… don’t they usually do their own investigation before paying out?”

“They do, but how much energy are they going to expend to save fifteen grand?”

“Let me see that sheet again.”

Alex flipped the pages and then stopped when she came across a witness statement that she’d overlooked earlier.

“This is probably why. A Julian Mercado,” she pointed at the man’s name on the report, “says he saw the family on the beach. Saw them go into the water and then saw Cheryl leave in the car alone.”

“Ahh.”

“Let’s see if we can find this Julian Mercado, have a little chat with him.”

Deputy Denishen clapped his hands together and Alex smiled.

It felt like they were finally getting somewhere.

Like she was actually leading this investigation toward some sort of result.

“Done.”

Chapter 9

“Andrew, do you have records of water currents at Laguna Beach on specific dates?” Alex said into her phone.

“Of course, you want to know where the bone might have come from. I can do a weekly average over the last six—”

“No, not yet. I just want to know if there were any rip currents or undertows on March 10th of this year.”

“March… 10th?”

“Yeah. Can you look that up for me, please?”

“Can do.”

Alex snapped her fingers and pointed.

“That’s it,” she said to Denishen.

Julian Mercato’s house made Cheryl Jankovish’s look like a McMansion. Destitute didn’t begin to describe the place.

Denishen parked by the curb.

“You have your weapon with you?”

“Of course.”

When the deputy stepped out, he drew his gun.

Alex did the same, keeping the phone pressed to her ear.

“You go first,” she instructed Denishen.

The deputy made it to the door, which hung open.

He knocked aggressively, which caused it to swing inward. Alex saw several people passed out on the filthy floor.

“OC Sheriff’s Department,” Deputy Denishen shouted.

Several people stirred, but none woke.

“Agent Frost?” Andrew said.

“Yeah.”

“March 10th was calm at Laguna Beach. No rip—”

“Thanks. I’ll call you back.”

She hung up.

“Sheriff’s Department!”

A man on a couch so riddled with cigarette burns that it looked like it suffered from cystic acne coughed and turned his head to one side. A long string of drool stuck to one of the stained cushions.

Other people stirred and a woman with a shaved head—at least, Alex thought it was a woman—opened her eyes.

They were glassy and unfocused.

“Julian Mercato?”

Denishen pointed at the coffee table. Like Cheryl’s, it too with lighters and syringes.

And this was probable cause to enter the premises.

Denishen went in, Alex followed.

“Julian Mercato?” Denishen said again.

The person with the shaved head—Is it a woman?—hooked a thumb at the man sleeping on the couch. He was short and of Latino descent.

“Everyone out!” Denishen nudged several people on the floor with his boot, waking them.

“Out!” Alex shouted, adding her own voice to the fray.

More people woke, saw the guns, and scuttled out of the house like cockroaches.

In mere moments, it was just the three of them, Denishen, Alex, and Julian.

Keeping their weapons at the ready, the deputy moved forward and shook the man’s leg.

“Hey, wake up.”

No response.

Denishen shook the man again, harder this time. He must have felt something on his hand because he grimaced and then wiped his palm on the man’s shirt.

Alex figured this only made his hand dirtier.

“Julian, wake up.”

At long last, the man opened his eyes.

“Wha? Who you?” He noticed their guns and forced his back into the couch. “Take whatever you want, man.”

“What we want, Julian, is to ask you a few questions.”

The man’s eyes lowered to Denishen’s uniform.

“OC Sheriff’s Department,” the deputy stated.

“FBI,” Alex added.

“This—this shit ain’t mine, man. I had a party and—”

“I’ll tell you what, Julian,” Alex said, taking charge. “You answer our questions and me and Deputy Denishen will walk out of here with our eyes closed. You give us the runaround or lie to us, and we’ll book you for possession and anything else we can think of. And I’m guessing that it won’t be your first arrest?”

Julian sneered.

“Didn’t think so. So, Julian, do you know Cheryl Jankovish?”

“I don’t know nobody.”

Alex didn’t hesitate.

“Book him.”

Denishen reached behind him for his cuffs.

“Okay, wait,” Julian said. “Sounds familiar.”

Denishen paused.

“You ever deal drugs to her?”

“I don’t—I don’t deal drugs.”

A lie, but Alex gave him a pass on this one.

“Okay, I’ll tell you what I think, and you say nothing if I’m on the right track. That way you won’t be incriminating yourself.”

Julian licked his lips.

Good enough for me.

“You’re Cheryl’s dealer. Hook her up with dope. She pays you in cash and when she doesn’t have that, she pays you in other ways.”

Julian’s nostrils flared.

“I wouldn’t touch that bitch with a ten-foot pole.”

Alex couldn’t help but smile.

That last part she’d just thrown in there to see if she was on the right track. Julian had just implicitly confirmed that not only did he know Cheryl, but that he dealt her drugs, as well.

“Fine. I’m going to make one more statement, and this time I’m going to need you to answer. I’m also going to need you to think very carefully before you respond. Got it?”

Julian offered her some facsimile of a nod.

“On March 10th, you met Cheryl on Laguna Beach. Early morning. Maybe you sold her some drugs, maybe you didn’t—I don’t care. Either way, she asked you to do her a favor. She asked you to tell the cops if they came around to say that she was at the beach with her husband and daughter. And that she left alone.”

Julian considered this for some time. Then his bloodshot eyes rolled back.

Denishen used the barrel of his gun to shake the man’s leg this time.

“Hey, wake up.”

Julian started.

“Yeah. That’s what she said. Tell the cops she came with her fam, left without them. So what?”

Alex’s smile faded.

“Book him,” she instructed Denishen.

The deputy nodded at her.

“Stand up.”

“Wait—wait a second.”

“I said, stand up.”

Julian raised his hands.

“You said you wouldn’t book me for this shit! You can’t lie to me like that!”

“I can, but I’m not booking you for the drugs.”

“Then what the fuck?”

While he was distracted, Denishen hoisted the man to his feet and spun him around.

“I’m booking you for lying to the cops and obstruction of justice.’

“This is fucking bullshit.”

Alex watched as the deputy slapped on the cuffs on Julian’s emaciated wrists.

Her phone rang.

It was Hale.

“Yeah?” she answered.

“Uhh, Agent Frost?” Her partner sounded out of breath, but this was nothing new for the overweight man.

“What is it? I’m kinda busy here.”

“We got a problem. Cheryl… she took something. She’s… I don’t think she’s going to make it.”

“What? How?”

“Don’t know. She was in—”

“Where are you?”

“Mission Hospital.”

“Okay, I’m coming now.”

She hung up and Denishen stared at her expectantly.

“It’s your lucky day, Julian.” Then to the deputy, “Release him—we have to go.”

Chapter 10

“Where is she?” Alex asked.

Chris Hale, now a white owl, swallowed hard.

“Still in intensive care.”

He swiveled his hips and Alex and the deputy walked beside him down the aseptic hospital hall.

“What the hell happened, Hale?”

“I don’t know. Had her in lock up, searched her and everything. About an hour later, one of the deputies went by to check on her, found Cheryl foaming at the mouth and seizing on the floor. Nose was bleeding.”

“Was it withdrawal?”

Hale’s painfully slow pace became even more labored.

“I don’t… think so. We found a vial. It was… wet. Slimy. Sent it to the lab to be analyzed. We searched her before putting her in the cell—I have no idea where she got it from.”

Alex thought she knew, and her stomach muscles contracted.

There had been a slight delay between when they’d first announced themselves at Cheryl’s and when she’d run out the back.

Just enough time to hide a bottle of heroin on one’s person.

In one’s person.

Alex shuddered.

“Fuck.”

Hale pushed through the swinging doors to the ICU and led them to a man in a sheriff’s department uniform standing guard.

The man nodded at them.

“Deputy Denishen.”

“Kane, this is FBI Agent Frost and I’m guessing you know Agent Hale.”

“Yeah. Listen, we searched her. We—”

“Strip search?”

“Yeah.” Deputy Kane nodded vigorously. He was the polar opposite of Hale. Skinny, small features. Light hair. “I mean, she was wearing nothing beneath that nightgown.”

“Next time do a cavity search,” Alex said angrily. “A deep cavity search.”

Deputy Kane’s oversized Adam’s apple—more of a watermelon than an apple—bobbed.

“R-right.”

Through the glass behind the deputy, Alex saw Cheryl with a breathing tube shoved down her throat, her eyes taped closed.

“If there is a next time,” she muttered under her breath. “What’s her prognosis?”

“Doctors aren’t sure,” Kane said. “As soon as we found Cheryl, we administered Narcan, but she’d already stopped breathing—impossible to know for how long. Passed out from lack of oxygen and fell into a coma. Docs are still doing tests. They told us that if the heroin was laced with fentanyl, then the prognosis is bad. If it was clean, then there’s a 50/50 chance she wakes up.”

“Oh, great.”

“Kane, can you send someone to pick up Julian Mercato? His address is the same as listed on his last arrest.”

“Sure.”

The request surprised Alex.

“You think he’s still going to be there?”

“No,” Denishen admitted. “He’s gone. But maybe he’ll come back.”

“Alright.” A thought suddenly entered Alex’s mind and she gestured for Denishen to step to the other side of the hall with her. Hale looked to follow, but Alex discouraged him with a hard glance.

“What’s up?”

“I was thinking… remember when you told me what Cheryl said about the bone not coming from her yard?”

“Yeah.” Denishen’s white eyebrows flicked up expectantly.

“What does our warrant cover?”

“Just the interior of the house.”

“Think we can get the judge to extend it to the yard?”

Denishen shrugged.

“Probably. She ran into the backyard so we can make a reasonable claim that we think she tossed something there.”

“What about a warrant to let us dig?”

Denishen shifted his weight.

“That… will be a hard sell.”

Alex opened her mouth, was about to say something, and then changed her mind.

She was channeling her inner Con here, and not a good part. On the tip of her tongue had been the suggestion to lie.

Denishen’s eyes brightened.

“But I don’t think we need to dig.”

“What do you mean?” Alex asked, considering that perhaps they weren’t on the same page, after all. “You think that Cheryl just left her husband and daughter on the lawn to rot in the sun?”

The bluntness of her words shocked the deputy.

“I—I just meant that if she did something to them…” Alex trailed off. “I’m sorry—”

“No, I get it, I know what you were thinking. What I was going to say, is that we don’t necessarily need to dig. About a year ago, we staked out a cartel who was working out of this warehouse on the outskirts of OC. They used a backhoe to dig hundreds of holes out back and then filled them in again. By the time we stormed the place there were just too many spots to dig up. Would have taken us months. So, we borrowed a ground penetrating radar device and—Frost? You alright?”

Alex felt lightheaded and her skin had gone clammy.

She leaned up against the wall for support.

The simple mention of a cartel had sent her mind into a tailspin.

Flashes of Tori, of her foot, of Corvus and his knives.

Con, with a blade sticking out of his back, buried to the hilt.

His leg bleeding from a bullet wound. His arm broken.

Denishen reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked.

Denishen, shocked, pulled back.

“I’m sorry. Do you… need something.”

“No, I’m fine. Just… please, give me a sec.”

“Frost?” Hale said.

“I’m fine,” she snapped. “I just… no, I’ll be okay. What were you saying?”

Denishen squinted at her.

“I was saying that we still have a ground penetrating radar machine in the department. We can use it to search the backyard without digging.”

“Okay. Call the judge, see if he’ll extend the warrant to the backyard.”

“What do you want me to do?” Hale asked. “I can call—”

“Stay here.” The idea of listening to Hale blabber on for hours nearly made her black out again. “Stay with Cheryl. Call me when she wakes up.”

Chapter 11

And just like that, Alex found herself back at Cheryl Jankovish’s shitty home. Deputy Denishen had called ahead, asked for a team of deputies and crime scene technicians to join them.

And to bring the GPR device with them, too.

Several blacked-out vans and a handful of Sheriff Department vehicles dotted the side of the road. Alex spotted people peering out from behind closed blinds in nearby homes, others smoking cigarettes on their porches.

Earlier, the entire street had been dead quiet.

Denishen found a spot to park about a quarter block from Cheryl’s house. Before getting out, he said, “Hey, about what happened back there at the hospital… you need to talk about it?”

Alex liked Paul Denishen.

He seemed like a good, honest, and caring man.

But, no, she did not want to talk to this near stranger about her PTSD from being kidnapped by a Mexican drug cartel.

“I’m fine.”

She exited the car before the man got any ideas of asking further questions.

The flurry of activity halted when they got close.

“Deputy Denishen, we’re all ready to go,” a fellow deputy said, falling just short of a salute. “GPR is in the back like you asked. Techs are ready to tear the place apart. Just give the signal.”

“Actually, this is FBI Agent Frost’s case. She’s the one giving the orders here.”

Normally, this sort of anti-macho deference would have impressed Alex. As a beat cop in NYC, Alex had been put through the ringer. Hit on constantly and when she’d made it clear that she wasn’t interested, and wouldn’t put up with that sort of shit, she’d been summarily ignored.

But she wasn’t ready for this responsibility. Not even close.

“Agent Frost?” Denishen prodded.

Alex half expected someone to jump out from behind a van, video camera in hand.

“Surprise! You’re on a prank TV show!”

She would have pretended to be upset but deep down, relief would have washed over her.

No such luck.

There was no one coming to save her.

“Search the house for evidence of blood, bodily fluids, that sort of thing. It’s gonna be from months ago, but the homeowner is an addict. They might have missed something.”

“I thought… I thought we were looking for drugs?” the deputy from earlier asked.

“You thought wrong,” Denishen said.

“O-okay. What about the GPR? What are we looking for in the backyard?”

It didn’t come from my yard.

“Bones. You’re looking for bones.”

The deputy gave Alex a quizzical look, but Denishen vanquished this with a look of his own.

“Okay. Will report back.”

The deputy left.

“Thanks,” Alex said.

“No problem.”

Deputy Denishen was almost too nice and more of Con’s paranoia started to creep in. Was he doing this out of the kindness of his heart? Or was Denishen just making sure he wasn’t on the hook when Alex inevitably failed?

Could there actually be someone this nice in law enforcement?

Alex wasn’t naive, she knew what type of personality the industry typically attracted. The fact that Denishen, old as he was, was still a deputy, and yet clearly garnered respect from his peers, suggested that he might be one of the few rare examples of a good man.

Even outside of law enforcement, these were harder and harder to come by.

“Hey, Denishen—” Alex was about to ask how long he’d worked in the OC Sheriff’s Department when a car tore down the street and came to a screeching halt. “What the hell is it now?”

The door opened and a man and a woman stepped out.

The man was wearing a polo T-shirt, tucked in, the woman gray slacks and white blouse, also tucked in.

Nearly a carbon copy of her own outfit.

Maybe she’d been wrong.

Maybe Alex was destined to be saved after all.

***

“What the fuck is going on here?” Chase asked out of the corner of her mouth.

There were cars everywhere. OC Sheriff’s Department cruisers, vans that could only be CSU vehicles.

Plenty of people, too.

After landing at John Wayne, she and Tate had rented a car and then drove to the Heritage Museum to meet up with Hale and Frost.

A diminutive man with glasses had informed them that he thought the agents were at a Cheryl Jankovish’s place. He gave them the address, then started to ramble on about some technical nonsense that Chase didn’t want to hear even if she thought, for a moment, she understood what the man was saying.

She wasn’t a fan of drowning herself in second or third-hand information about a case. This just tended to cloud her mind.

But the man, so far as Chase could remember, didn’t say anything about an entire department being present at Cheryl’s place.

“No clue,” Tate said.

He’d been quiet on the flight, quieter still in the car.

His mood hadn’t affected his driving, though.

It was still a white-knuckled, hair-raising affair.

California was one of the few places that Chase’s job hadn’t brought her until today. She’d been all over most of the US—Nevada, New York, Montana, Colorado, Tennessee, New Mexico, D.C., and the goddamn multiverse of all places—but not California.

Parts were beautiful, parts, like where Cheryl Jankovish lived, not so much.

In many ways, it was just like every other major city her work had taken her.

“Any signs of Agent Frost?”

Tate turned his head toward the house. Chase did the same.

People were moving with purpose. Someone in uniform was directing others inside, someone else pointing toward around back.

One tech was pushing what looked like a high-tech lawnmower.

“They planning on cutting this Cheryl woman’s grass?” Tate said with a dry chuckle.

“Sure looks like it.”

“Tate?”

Chase whipped around and spotted the speaker immediately.

She looked a little beaten down, but other than that, much the same as Chase remembered her from her wedding.

Pretty, dark hair in a ponytail. Smallish features, save for full lips. An athletic build.

FBI Agent Alex Frost reminded Chase a lot of herself when she was younger. Chase was a good ten-plus years her senior, had many miles on her, and her hair was a stark white.

But their outfits were the same and Chase was just a little proud to see that it fit about the same, too.

Chase, at a mere 5’5, was a good three or four inches shorter than Frost, but their other dimensions seemed similar.

Frost was a little more endowed in the chest region, but not encumbered by size.

“Agent Adams,” Frost said, stiffening just a little. There was a flush to her cheeks, which Chase didn’t think was attributable to the warm weather.

“Agent Frost.”

“Hey, Alex,” Tate said.

Chase winced. She feared that this might happen. It wasn’t that she admonished her partner and husband for acting human, but she knew what happened when emotions got in the way of a case.

They were looking into a thigh bone of a ten-year-old girl that had washed up on shore.

Human or not, Chase drew the line at Tate hugging Agent Frost.

When her partner moved forward as if to do just that, Chase subtly blocked his path.

“What are we doing here?”

Frost cleared her throat before bringing them up to speed.

Succinct, to the point.

Chase appreciated the woman’s approach.

“Okay,” she said when Frost finished. “Thanks for filling us in. Seems like you have everything under control here so—”

“Actually?” Frost said softly. “I’m kinda lost. I think I need help.”

Tate came forward again and this time Chase didn’t block him.

“What do you mean?” Tate asked.

“I… I don’t think I’m ready to lead a case like this.”

“Alex, I know—”

“I think you’ve done a great job so far, Agent Frost,” Chase cut in. “And we’d be happy to take it from here.”

Perhaps there was still room for a little humanity in this job, after all.

Chapter 12

That feel-good feeling didn’t last.

It never does. Not in Chase’s experience, anyway.

The rainbows and unicorns and butterflies all disappeared when one of the CSU techs shouted.

“Found something!”

He wasn’t, as Tate had suggested, mowing Cheryl Jankovish’s lawn. Instead, Deputy Paul Denishen, who was working closely with Agent Frost, informed them that the tech was using a Ground Penetrating Radar machine to search the overgrown lawn for buried bones.

It was the man operating said machine who had hollered.

“What is it?” Chase asked.

The man didn’t know who she was, but her tone eliminated any question of her authority.

“Have some highly reflective objects right here,” he said, pointing at a monitor attached to the machine.

Chase leaned close.

Most of the image was just layers of stacked gray lines but there were some bright spots.

“What am I looking at?”

“The lines are stratifications in the earth.” He pointed at the screen again. “This is just compacted dirt. But these? These areas are denser.”

“Bones?” Chase asked. To her, the lines looked like… well, just weird white objects. Mostly straight, some curved.

“Don’t know for sure.”

Chase turned to Frost.

“Did you get the warrant to search the property?”

“No, that was Deputy Denishen.”

Chase looked at the man who had to be Andrew from the museum’s brother or even twin. The only difference was that Andrew wore glasses and the deputy, whose first name she hadn’t learned, did not. Oh, and the deputy was much more economical with his words.

“I did. First, to search the house and then got it extended to include the yard. Cheryl ran and—”

Okay, maybe not that economical.

“Friendly Judge?”

Denishen’s head rolled.

“Mildly.”

“I’m guessing that he didn’t give you permission to dig.”

“He didn’t not.”

Chase turned her attention back to the tech.

“How confident are you that these strange lines are bones?”

“Uhh, not really? Could be bones, could be anything else that is mineral dense and—”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.”

Frowning, she looked at Denishen.

“See if this mildly friendly judge will extend the warrant again to allow us to dig.”

“Will do.”

Denishen got on his phone.

“Have you guys found anything inside the home?” Chase asked the tech with the GPR.

“Not sure, just been running this thing over the lawn. The thick grass makes it slow going. But hold on.” The man raised a hand and waved. “Nicole? Any update from inside the house?”

A woman in a black CSU jacket, with long blond hair and thick glasses looked up from a clipboard.

She eyed them suspiciously.

“Agents Adams, Frost, and Abernathy with the FBI Children’s Victims Unit,” Chase said, correctly figuring that just speaking in a heavy tone would be insufficient to get this woman to answer their questions.

“Ah, out of Quantico, right?”

Chase was surprised that the tech was aware of the CVU.

“That’s right.”

“Thanks for coming out. Unfortunately, the house is in a state of disarray. We’re working hard going through everything but it’s going to take time.”

“Got it. Please—”

Chase overheard a shift in Denishen’s tone, off to her right. It didn’t sound promising.

“Hold on a second,” she told Nicole.

“Sure.”

Chase waved a hand to get Denishen’s attention.

“Let Tate give it a shot,” she whispered.

The man nodded and told the judge that someone else wanted to speak to him. He handed the phone to Tate who had been silently observing the scene.

“He’s good at this kind of thing, isn’t he?” Frost asked.

“He is,” Chase confirmed. “One of the best.”

“Probably learned that from Con.”

Chase saw a sadness pass over Frost’s young features.

“Maybe. But he’s also just old.” She wasn’t in the habit of making jokes at a crime scene, but she felt a twinge of unexpected compassion for Alex. “I bet you a thousand bucks the judge is old, too—they all are. All Tate has to do is mention prune juice and golf and he’ll get it done.”

Frost smiled, but that sad expression in her eyes never quite went away.

Tate spoke for a few seconds, then hung up the phone.

“Got it,” he said proudly.

“Really?” Denishen seemed surprised by this. Chase wasn’t.

“Yes, sir. Sending you the document now.” Tate gives the deputy his phone back.

“See?” Chase whispered to Frost. “Old people stuff.”

Now, the agent laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Tate asked, his brow furrowing.

“Nothing,” Frost said.

“Okay, don’t know how you did that, but I just got the warrant to dig,” Denishen said, still a little confused by what had just happened.

“You have some shovels back at the station?” Tate asked.

“No.”

“Okay, well we—”

“They’re not at the station,” Denishen continued. “They’re here.”

The deputy whistled and another member of the Sheriff’s Department rushed over.

“Hey, get the shovels and start digging.”

***

Cheryl Jankovish hadn’t buried the bodies of her daughter and husband very deep and within the hour, the Orange County CSU team had unearthed their bones.

If the woman had buried her family the same day that she claimed they were lost at sea, they’d only had about ten months to decompose.

There was still meat on their bones. Not much, but enough.

What affected Chase most was the clothes that were found wrapped around their skeletons.

Kirsta was wearing a bikini. It was filthy and most of the straps had been destroyed by either the acidity of the soil or by microbes.

But Chase could still make out flowers, probably daisies, on the fabric.

Ivor had been wearing swimming trunks and these, likely because they were made of some synthetic, water-resistant fabric, were still mostly intact.

The coroner was called in and was now looking at the bodies, trying to determine cause of death.

They needed to eliminate the possibility of Cheryl claiming that her family died of natural causes, and she buried them in the backyard.

Unusual, but a defense such as this, weak as it was, would only make the DA’s job more difficult. 

During the unearthing, Agent Frost had become increasingly uncomfortable. While Chase was sympathetic to what the woman had been through in Mexico, she wasn’t about to baby the rookie agent.

If Frost couldn’t handle the sight of a couple of mostly decomposed corpses, then this job simply wasn’t for her.

Harsh, but that was reality.

Tate, on the other hand…

“Hey, you going to be alright?” he asked Frost.

Chase frowned.

“No,” Frost said simply.

“Well, if you need a moment—”

“Tate,” Chase said as a warning.

He brushed this off, which only caused her expression to harden.

“It’s not that,” Frost said, raising her eyes from the shallow grave and eying them both now. “The girl… she has both legs.”

Chase had not been expecting this response.

“What?”

Frost pointed.

“Both femurs.”

“Ah, shit,” Chase said, now understanding Frost’s comment. “Well, at least the DA will be able to charge Cheryl with their deaths.”

“If she survives.”

“What do you mean? Andrew at the museum said that you had her in custody?”

“We do—or did. She managed to smuggle drugs into her cell. She overdosed and is in a coma.”

Chase massaged her forehead with her palm.

“Fuck.”

“If you guys want to head back to the museum, I can monitor things here,” Denishen offered.

This sounded like a good idea to Chase, and she said as much.

“Just give us a call if you find anything in the house or if the coroner can determine cause of death.”

“Will do. Take care.”

Chapter 13

“Wait… you found bones buried in Cheryl Jankovish’s backyard?” Andrew Denishen asked, mouth agape. “Like, human bones?”

Chase had been reluctant to tell the museum curator what they’d found and probably wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for the fact that he was the deputy’s brother.

“Two sets—one we believe belongs to Cheryl’s husband, the other her daughter.”

Now, Andrew’s eyes were as wide as his mouth. Three perfect circles on his face.

“The femur… it’s her daughter’s?” There was no reason for the man to whisper; it was just Tate, Frost, and Chase in the man’s impressive office.

Office… that’s what Andrew called it, but the room was probably more aptly described as a cutting-edge forensic lab.

“Unless Kirsta Jankovish had three legs, then, no,” Chase replied.

Andrew adjusted his glasses.

“Huh,” he said. The man now tapped his chin. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Why’s that?”

“Here, check this out.” Andrew pointed at the monitor. “I’ve tracked the currents near Laguna Beach over the past eight to ten months.”

The monitor displayed a graphic of Laguna Beach and the surrounding islands. A simulation played out, with the date in the upper right-hand corner changing so quickly that it blurred.

Arrows in the water circulated around several islands, before colliding with the beach.

There was an obvious pattern to these currents, and even to Chase’s untrained eye, she easily identified three likely island candidates that the bone might have come from before washing up on shore.

“What are those islands?” Chase asked, indicating the three that she’d singled out.

“Santa Rosa, San Nicolas, and Santa Catalina.”

“You know anything about them?” Chase asked.

“Of course,” Andrew said with a partial scoff, almost as if the question had insulted him.  “Santa Rosa is the largest, about 80 square miles. It’s part of the Channel Islands but isn’t popular with tourists. Terrain is too rugged.”

Chase could feel Frost moving over her shoulder to get a better look.

“How many people live there?” Frost asked.

“None. No permanent residents.”

“Tourists?” Chase said.

“Not many—maybe fifteen thousand a year.”

Chase’s lips twitched.

Fifteen thousand might not be much to Andrew and was probably magnitudes lower compared to Orange County and Los Angeles, but it was an insane number of potential unsubs and/or victims.

“How does it work? Do you need a permit, or do you have to sign in or what?”

Chase was hoping that visits to the island would be highly regulated, ideally with visitors being required to show their driver’s licenses or, better yet, their passports, making it easier to narrow down their suspect pool.

“You need to register when you arrive, yes. And all boats must anchor off Becher’s Bay. But…”

He trailed off.

“But what?”

Chase was getting the impression that Andrew was into the same stupid guessing games that Linus was.

Guess what… guess who… guess when…

“It’s a huge island. I mean, if someone was determined enough, they could pull a small skiff up to pretty much anywhere, anchor, and swim to shore without anyone being the wiser.”

“Great.”

“What the other islands?” Tate chimed in.

“Right. Well, San Nicolas is owned by the Navy, no one in or out without an escort.”

“Navy controlled? That’s probably out, then,” Tate mused out loud.

“Not necessarily. You guys ever heard of the Lone Woman of San Nicolas?”

“No,” all three of them said in unison.

Andrew started to rise.

“We have an exhibit here about her. She—”

“Just tell us,” Chase said harshly. She wasn’t interested in a history lesson; only wanted to find out where the hell the femur had come from.

Andrew slumped back down, displeasure plastered on his face.

“Well, back in the mid-1800s, a woman, the last of the Nicoleño tribe, lived on San Nicolas alone for eighteen years. The story goes that when otter hunters came to the island in 1814, they discovered the tribe. They claim that one member of their expedition was killed by someone in the tribe. They retaliated by hunting and killing most of the Nicoleño people.”

Chase was about to instruct Andrew to get to the point, but Tate, expecting this response out of her, shot her a strong look.

As annoying as Andrew Denishen was quickly becoming, his knowledge of the area was invaluable. And he wasn’t law enforcement and thus had no real obligation to help them out.

Chase bit her tongue and let the man prattle on.

“In 1835, an expedition returned to the island, gathered up all remaining tribe members with the intention of bringing them back to California. Just as they were getting ready to leave, a storm rolled in. They knew that there was still one woman left on San Nicolas but, worried that they’d be caught up in the storm, they left without her. She became Juana Maria, the Lone Woman of San Nicolas—lived all alone in a cave for eighteen years before anyone came across her again.”

Chase shuddered, recalling her last experience with caves. She’d been in the heart of a mountain when an explosion had gone off, collapsing the cave, and causing an avalanche.

Chase had nearly been buried alive.

“What happened after they found her?” Frost asked.

“Well, that’s the thing; they brought her back to the mainland, but she died less than two weeks later. Her immune system couldn’t handle being around other people.”

“But I’m guessing that this was long before the Navy controlled San Nicolas,” Chase said. “What about—”

“Actually, the Navy was formed in 1775 when two—” Andrew stopped himself when he saw Chase’s face. “But you’re right, they didn’t control the island like they do now. I’ll say this, though, even though the Navy has an airfield and a comms station on San Nicolas, it’s over twenty square miles. The southern western tip is almost all cliff faces. If there was—”

“Andrew, what can you tell us about Santa Catalina?” Tate asked, probably worried that Chase would lose her cool.

“Catalina is just a little smaller than Santa Rosa. But unlike the other two islands, it has about five thousand permanent residences. And it gets about a million guests every year.”

“Fucking hell,” Chase muttered, shaking her head.

“Is there any way to narrow this down a little?” Frost said.

“Maybe. I’ve been looking at the engraving on the bone…” Andrew closed the water current simulation and opened up a still image of the femur.

He zoomed in on the engraving until it filled the screen.

If there had been any lingering doubts that the circle with the three lines had been man-made, they were dashed now.

There was no scenario that Chase could think of in which these shapes, particularly the circle, occurred naturally.

“I did some research,” Andrew began, reverting back to his professorial tone. “Couldn’t find anything exactly like it in the literature. Could be a variant of a Native American Petroglyph, a human or mythical spirit, with the circle being the head and the lines representing limbs.”

“Why three?” Frost asked.

“Can’t figure that out. Maybe the middle one was meant to be the body?”

Chase didn’t think so. The lines were the exact same length, and all seemed to start from the bottom of the circle. Not quite touching it, but close.

“Anything else?”

“Could be the sun? Lots of tribal art made suns that looked like this. Only, they typically have lines going all the way around.”

“Maybe they were rushed?” Frost asked. “Could it be unfinished?”

“Perhaps.”

“Great,” Chase said, unable to control her frustration. “So, we could have a picture of a human, or a sun, or an alien. Or maybe just a random tourist found the bone and decided to fuck with us by carving some random shit into it with a knife.”

Andrew shook his head.

“It wasn’t made with a knife.”

“Whatever, doesn’t help—”

“What was it made with?” Tate asked.

“Something a little softer. I found some fibers embedded deep in the engravings. Put them in the—”

There was a ding behind them, and Andrew smiled.

“—EDS-SEM. And that… are the results.”

Chase stepped back and allowed Andrew to stand. He walked over to some clunky computer-looking device.

A bar graph appeared on the monitor. The largest was labeled ‘C’, the second ‘O’. N was third, while Ca, K, and Mg were also represented but these by much smaller bars.

Chase was no expert, didn’t know an EDS-SEM from an STI, but she wasn’t an idiot, either.

Carbon, Oxygen, Nitrogen, Calcium, Potassium, and Magnesium.

“What the hell is it?” Tate asked.

“Organic matter,” Andrew said proudly, still smiling.

Chase was feeling a headache start to form behind her eyes.

“Andrew, I—we—appreciate your help, but we need to find out where this bone came from. And by you—”

“I know, I’m sorry. It’s just… this is exciting for me, you know? Never been part of an investigation.”

Once more, Chase was forced to swallow a scathing remark.

This wasn’t exciting. This was a potential victim. A young girl.

Or was it? She thought back to what she’d said seconds earlier.

“Maybe this is all just a prank.”

“What do you mean?” Frost asked.

“Did Deputy Denishen look into missing persons?”

“Yes, from OC and surrounding areas. That’s how we found out about Cheryl Jankovish and her daughter Kirsta.”

“Where there any others?”

“No 10-year-old girls. I mean, none who went missing around six months ago.”

“What about from the islands? Santa Clarita?”

“I don’t know if he looked into them. I can do that, though.” Alex got on her phone.

“Good. Also, give the local cemeteries a call. See if there are any recent reports of grave robbers, maybe some bones went missing.”

Frost nodded and continued to plug away on her phone.

When Chase turned back to Andrew, she noticed that the man had pulled something new up on the screen.

A microscopic image of some sort of fibrous material.

“I think I’ve found it.”

“Found what?”

“The object that made the engraving.” The man was beaming now. “I’m pretty sure that the shapes were carved with a Torrey Pine.” He cocked his head. “Scratch that, a Torrey Pine root.”

“What the hell is Torrey Pine root?” Chase demanded.

“Torrey Pine is a type of tree, and the roots are incredibly hard.”

The headache that had begun to form finally blossomed in Chase’s head.

“Please, Andrew. What the hell are you—”

“Torrey Pine is an endangered species. It’s only found in two locations: a small area of the San Diego coastline and one island in particular.”

Oh, the Linus Effect again.

The waiting to reveal important information.

Chase hated this nearly as much as she hated being called ‘ma’am’.

Although she was remiss to do so, Tate played along.

“San Diego…. and?”

Andrew’s face split open, revealing a seat of pearly whites.

“Santa Rosa Island.”

Chapter 14

The museum was abuzz with a flurry of activity.

Tate, trying to organize a way for them to get out to Santa Rosa Island, Frost reaching out to dozens of cemeteries across Western California. Andrew performing more bizarre, high-tech tests to confirm his suspicions that the tool used to make the engraving was indeed a root from a Torrey Pine.

Chase paced.

She still held out hope that Frost would be successful. That the woman would lower her phone and tell them that some freak had unearthed the skeletal remains of a girl who died from an undiagnosed heart condition or car accident that spared her legs.

And then this same freak used the bone to play fetch with his dog on the beach. Only the dog was skittish, afraid of the surf, and couldn’t find the bone after the third or fourth iteration of the game.

Did Frank Vitrano have a dog? she wondered.

It wouldn’t explain the engraving, but maybe Frank was behind that, too.

He was so desperate to find something of value that he decided to make his own. His own, personal version of the Lone Woman of San Nicolas.

But this fantasy came crashing to a halt moments later when Frost, her pretty, full lips almost pouting, said, “No reports of graves being unearthed over the past year or so. Can’t reach all of the cemeteries, but left messages for them to call me back. Also, no missing persons from any of the islands that match the description.”

“Great.”

“I managed to get us a boat to take us to Santa Clarita,” Tate said, also done with his phone calls.

“Boat?” Chase said, one eyebrow arching. The idea of swaying back and forth on a vessel in the middle of the Pacific Ocean was enough to make her guts coil into a knot. “Do they have an airport on the island?”

“No airport, but it does have an airstrip. Helluva time finding a plane that can take us there, though. I can probably arrange something for tomorrow morning, but nothing today.”

The idea of waiting until tomorrow made Chase significantly more uncomfortable than taking a boat.

Still, she wasn’t about to give up just yet.

“What about a Chopper?”

“Reached out to Denishen who’s still at the Jankovish’s property. He says that the OC Sheriff’s Department has five choppers, but three are out of commission. Said that Sheriff Wilson is pretty stingy about the other two, wants to keep them reserved for rescue missions. Denishen also mentioned that all chopper flights to any of the islands, which are outside of OC’s jurisdiction, need to be cleared by the Navy first.”

“Also, great,” Chase chirped. “Boat it is, I guess. But if you think I’m getting on a catamaran or a fishing boat run by some one-toothed local yocal, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Tate chuckled.

“Naw. Lieutenant Josh Blaese from the San Nicolas Naval Base is going to come get us from Laguna Beach. Seemed eager.”

“When?”

“About two hours. Lieutenant Blaese said that if we’re ready to go, he can get us to Santa Rosa in under three hours.”

“Three hours?” Chase gasped.

“That’s what he said.”

“Santa Rosa is about a hundred and twenty miles off-shore,” Andrew, he of all things island-related, cheerily informed them.

He caught Chase’s scathing stare and quickly averted his eyes.

“I’m about 90% sure that the fibers in the bone are of Torrey Pine root origins. Are you… are you planning on putting together a search party?” Andrew had a glint in his eye as he said this.

Chase hadn’t thought about this, but now that Andrew had brought it up, it made sense.

“How big is the island, again?”

“Over eighty square miles.”

Chase frowned.

An area that size, especially if the terrain was rough and varied, would take a team of 200 people days to properly search. Longer, given the fact that they have no idea what they are actually looking for.

“No food or water on the island, so you’re going to have to bring that with you. Tents, too, if you intend on staying overnight,” Andrew informed them.

How long would it take to put together a team of that size? It would require more than just the OC Sheriff’s Department, and a good portion of those men were still occupied at Cheryl’s place combing the pigsty for evidence.

“What do you think, Tate?”

“I think we’re fucked.”

“Gee, thanks for your help. Frost?”

Alex appeared pensive for a moment.

“I say we take a small group out to the island, check it out first. Maybe hit up a camping store for supplies beforehand. If we find anything interesting, we can stay over, call Deputy Denishen to see if he can bring some men and meet us there.”

“See?” Chase said. “That’s how you do it, Tate.”

“Agent Adams?” It was Andrew again.

“Yes?”

“Might I throw my hat in to come along? I’ve been to the island dozens of times, know the areas that tourists like to visit and where the highest concentration of Torrey Pines are. I’m an avid camper, as well.”

Chase was reluctant to involve any civilian in their investigation, but having someone familiar with the island would come in handy.

She looked to Frost before Tate this time.

“I think it’s a good idea,” the woman said with a shrug.

Chase still wasn’t keen on the notion but agreed anyway. Andrew was, after all, the deputy’s brother, which meant that he probably had at least some rudimentary knowledge of how to conduct a search.

So, she hoped.

Andrew was practically frothing with excitement, nodding like a Hula dancer resting on some Redneck’s dashboard.

“Might I also suggest bringing Frank Vitrano, as well? He really is an expert at finding things.”

Chase didn’t defer this time.

Two civilians were infinitely worse than three, but she wasn’t sure what to make of Frank Vitrano, yet. She also wasn’t sure she trusted him and preferred to have him close by rather than a three-hour boat ride away.

“Fine, but that’s it. The three of us, and you and Frank. We scope out the island, see if we can come up with anything. If we do, we get your brother to convince the sheriff to call in the troops. Maybe get the Navy involved, too.”

Andrew clapped his hands together.

“Deal. I just need to go home and get some gear together. I can meet you at Laguna Beach in under an hour.”

The man was nearly out the door before Chase could even open her mouth.

“Andrew, is there a camping outfitter in OC?”

“Check out Bass Pro, just off the main drag. Tell them that Andrew Denishen at the Heritage Museum sent you and they’ll give you a discount.”

Chapter 15

“Hey, where’s your new partner?” Tate asked Frost as they entered the Bass Pro Shop.

“Oh, shit!” Frost’s eyes went wide. “I forgot all about Agent Hale.” She laughed nervously. “He’s still at the hospital waiting for Cheryl to wake up. I should probably call him.”

“Ahhh, maybe not.”

Chase caught Tate giving her a sidelong glance.

“Why not?” she said.

Now Tate looked at Frost. Chase felt as if she was missing out on some inside joke.

“It’s just… Hale likes to talk a lot,” Frost explained.

“So?”

“A lot, a lot. Frost mentioned it at Con’s funeral,” Tate explained.

Now, Chase understood.

“Okay, maybe it’s better if he stays where he is.”

Frost smiled.

None of the three of them were campers. None of them had any experience camping. Tate mentioned that he’d gone camping as a kid once, or twice—the fact that he couldn’t remember exactly how many times spoke volumes about his lack of experience.

As for Chase?

No.

Hell, no.

Her childhood memories were muddled from the electroshock therapy and priming, but Chase was positive that she’d never been camping.

Frost told them that her mother had died when she was young and she’d spent most of her childhood with her politician father, attending fundraisers and other related functions.

Chase thought that perhaps the electroshock therapy she’d undergone might have been less tortuous than that.

“You guys look like you could use some help,” a tiny, squeaky voice said.

“That bad, huh?” Tate shot back with a grin.

The employee was a spritely thing, with high cheekbones, bright eyes, and breasts that practically exploded out of her uniform shirt.

And Tate seemed to be flirting with her.

Chase had never been a jealous person, not with her ex-husband Brad, and definitely not with Tate, but his reaction irked her a little. Ever since Director Stitts had mentioned Agent Frost’s name back in Quantico, her husband had been acting… odd.

“We’re looking for a tent and some other supplies,” Chase said.

“Oh, really? Thinking about doing some camping, are you? Whereabouts?”

Chase didn’t feel keen on sharing information with Double-D Tinkerbell but figured it was probably important that the woman knew what terrain they’d encounter.

“Santa Rosa Island.”

“I didn’t think that they allowed people to stay over at this time of year. I thought—”

Chase, having had enough of this small talk already, pulled out her badge.

“Oh! FBI!” The woman’s eyes became nearly as large as her breasts. “You guys investigating something? Some of the employees were saying that they saw some members of the Sheriff’s Department out at—”

“We’re not at liberty to talk about any open cases,” Tate said.

Common parlance, but it was the way that Tate spoke that made Chase roll her eyes.

“Oh. Right. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, don’t worry.”

Now, the inside joke was between Frost and Chase.

Both of them rolled their eyes.

“Well, Santa Rosa is pleasant this time of year. Do you know what area you’re going to stay?”

“No, haven’t decided yet,” Tate said.

“Santa Rosa has forested parts, rocky areas, and beaches. If you come with me, I can find you a couple of rugged tents in case you set up shop somewhere hard.”

That isn’t the only thing that’s hard, Chase thought.

The well-endowed woman had a name tag on her chest, but it had been stretched so far out of proportion that it was impossible to read. But Tate tried.

Tried his darnedest.

They all followed the woman down a few aisles to the tent section.

“How many days were you thinking of staying on the island?”

“No more than three,” Chase said.

“Really? You’re going to need food and cooking supplies then, as well as water canisters and purifiers. Wait here and I’ll get you a cart.”

The woman dashed off and Chase eyed Tate suspiciously.

“What?” he asked, smoothing his mustache.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Tate said, clearly confused.

“You need some blood pressure pills?”

Now, Tate’s eyes were completely lost in his eyebrows.

“What are you talking about?”

“Just looking out for you—with all that blood rushing below your waist, I just want to make sure there’s enough to go to your brain.”

“Oh, gimme a break.”

Chase turned her head to Frost, and the younger version of herself put her hands up.

“Keep me out of this.”

“Chase, I’m just trying to—”

Double D returned with a shopping cart overflowing with items.

Chase grinned when she noticed Tate deliberately trying to look anywhere but the woman’s chest.

“Okay, I’ve got pretty much everything you need,” the woman said. “Now, we’ll just add the tents. How many do you want?”

“You guys think that Andrew and Frank will bring their own tents?” she asked.

“For sure,” Frost replied.

“Then two tents are all we’ll need.”

After securing the tents, they made their way to the cash.

“Do you know Andrew Denishen?” Tate asked as he pulled out what Chase recognized as the credit card Director Stitts had given them before leaving Quantico.

“Of course,” the woman exclaimed. “He’s a regular.”

“Well, he sent us here, so…”

The woman leaned forward, resting her breasts on the countertop. Chase couldn’t imagine the relief she must have felt in her lower back.

“Well, I can give you the employee discount—Andrew is a great customer. Twelve percent off.”

“Awesome,” Tate said, doing his best Stevie Wonder impression.

You’re an idiot, Tate.

He paid and then they headed to Frost’s place so that she could pack some clothes. Chase and Tate had yet to check into their accommodations and all of their luggage was still in the back of their rental.

“You guys want to wait here?” Frost asked as they pulled up outside her apartment building. “I’ll only be a minute.”

“Sure.”

When she was gone, Tate said, “Well, what do you think?”

It took Chase a few seconds to realize what her partner was asking.

“I like her,” she said. “She’s green but seems to have a good head on her shoulders.”

“Yeah,” Tate said absently. “That she does.”

Chase didn’t bug him anymore.

Chapter 16

“Oh my God,” Chase muttered under her breath.

She instantly regretted inviting Andrew Denishen along.

The man was standing on the beach dressed in a bright yellow rain slicker, the hood pulled over his head, despite the fact that it had to be nearly ninety degrees outside. On his back was an oversized pack. A plastic tube snaked out of one of the pouches and he chewed on it voraciously.

Beside him was a stack of… shit.

Bags, tents, enough supplies to sustain a small town following a nuclear blast.

Frank Vitrano was also there, and while he didn’t look nearly as ridiculous Andrew, he was also decked to the nines.

Chase recognized a metal detector amongst his things.

“Can we turn around?” she asked under her breath.

Tate laughed.

“C’mon, help me with our stuff.”

Andrew and Frank also lent a hand and in ten minutes, they’d taken over a small section of beach that had been unoccupied by people in tiny swimsuits who were enjoying the sun.

Chase now felt as ridiculous as Andrew looked. Everyone seemed to be staring at them.

Some were even surreptitiously snapping photos.

What bothered Chase even more than this, however, was that both Frank and Andrew had an air of excitement about them, that buzzing, anxious feeling that came before a well-needed family vacation.

She would have to remind them that they weren’t heading out to have a good time.

“My brother should be here shortly,” Andrew informed them.

“I didn’t know he was coming,” Tate said.

Chase didn’t either, nor could she remember inviting Deputy Paul Denishen.

Andrew plucked at his rain slicker.

“Oh, yeah, umm, I called him and told him our plan. He said they didn’t need him at Cheryl’s place. I… I hope that’s okay.”

This was something else that Chase would need to speak to the man about—he was a passive observer here—but she didn’t think that having Deputy Denishen along with them was a bad idea.

“No, it’s not an issue.”

“Good. I’ve also made a map for everyone, organized Santa Rosa into a grid. I figure we should stay in pairs. I’ll go with Frank.” He handed each of them a plasticized map as he spoke. “How do you guys want to split up?”

“I’ll go with Frost. Tate, you stay with the deputy,” Chase said.

Tate appeared as if he was about to argue, then changed his mind and nodded.

“Here’s Paul now,” Andrew said.

Deputy Denishen pulled up in his work car, parked, and came over.

Unlike his brother, Paul only had a single backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got enough stuff for the both of us,” Andrew said preemptively.

Chase wasn’t worried.

They had enough stuff for the entire beach to join them.

Paul said hello, and then pulled the three agents aside.

“Coroner found what he thinks are marks on the ribs of both of the victims in the Jankovish’s yard. Consistent with several kitchen knives we found on the premises.”

Beside her, Chase heard Frost draw in a breath.

She didn’t blame the woman. The idea of a mother stabbing her husband and ten-year-old daughter and then burying them in the backyard was enough to bother even the most seasoned agent.

“He’s excavated the skeletons and is in the process of bringing them back to the morgue. Any update on Cheryl’s condition?”

“No. She’s still in a coma. If anything changes, Agent Hale will call me,” Frost replied.

“Okay.” The deputy put his hands on his hips and looked toward Frank and Andrew who were chatting excitedly amongst themselves. “You think we brought enough stuff?”

Chase could only shake her head.

They joined the two men and Andrew handed his brother his map and informed him that he was going to be teaming up with Tate for the search.

And then they waited.

Half an hour later, they saw their escort.

Chase had been hoping for a large vessel, preferably with a hard top.

No such luck.

The boat that raced toward the shore was about twenty feet long and maybe eight feet wide. Two massive outboard motors churned water, shooting rooster tails high in the air. The only covering was a small metal awning over the craft’s sole operator.

The sunbathers’ eyes drifted from Chase’s crew to the boat. Phones came out to take pictures again.

There were only a handful of people actually in the water, and they were well away from the approaching craft. Still, the operator leaned on the horn as he barreled toward the shore.

Chase tensed, fearing that the man had lost control of the boat and was destined to continue onto the sand before smashing into their ridiculous pile of camping equipment.

She gripped Tate’s bicep and then let go when the boat swerved and came to a stop about six feet from the beach.

The operator cut the engines and tossed a small anchor into the water before hopping over the side.

He waded toward them, then unclipped the straps of his life vest, letting it hang open.

He was young and good-looking. Even with the life vest and his coyote brown outfit, which was bulky with an excess of pockets, Chase could tell that he was also in excellent shape.

He had blond hair that peeked out from beneath a dark ‘NAVY’ emblazoned ball cap. Clean shaven, with a tan that made his pale blue eyes even more striking.

The man was grinning as he waved and continued toward them.

“Enough stuff?” the man joked. “I thought we were maxing out at three days.”

“Well, I just want to be sure that—”

Chase interrupted Andrew mid-sentence.

“FBI Special Agent Chase Adams. These are Agents Frost and Abernathy.”

“Lieutenant Josh Blaese. Just Josh, though, please. Mind if we drop the formal names?”

“Not a problem.”

The deputy introduced the rest of their ragtag crew.

“Deputy Paul Denishen—Paul. This is my brother Andrew, head curator at the Heritage Museum, and Frank Vitrano.”

“Nice to meet all of you. Let’s load up the RIB and get going. Water’s a little choppy and it’s only going to get worse the longer we wait.”

They formed a human chain, passed all of the gear from hand to hand from the beach to the boat.

Lieutenant Blaese made sure everything was strapped down and then they boarded. All but Andrew did this with ease.

Twice, the man fell into the water, and during one of these awkward and embarrassing occasions, he lost his glasses.

It took Blaese slipping on a pair of goggles and ten minutes of searching before they finally located them.

The lieutenant suggested that Andrew keep them in his pocket for the rest of the trip.

Andrew did.

After joking that the RIB, which Chase presumed was a fancy Navy word for boat, had a loading capacity of 5000 pounds, he told them to hold onto their hats.

And then the craft jolted forward, and they accelerated across the ocean at breakneck speed.

Five minutes later, Chase hung her head over the side and tried her best not to soak their entire team in vomit.

Part II — Santa Rosa Island

Chapter 17

It was nearly three hours of pure torture. Not only did the boat slam into a concrete wave every few seconds, driving Chase’s organs against her rib cage, but the side-to-side motion was turning her stomach into a fucking blender.

She had nothing left to throw up.

Tate had offered her a bottle of water, which she’d gladly taken.

After two rounds of drinking only to puke up the water moments later, Chase had given up.

She ground her teeth, shut her eyes, and bided her time.

At some point, the boat slowed, but Chase barely noticed.

“Wow, it’s beautiful here,” some asshole said.

“That’s Becher’s Bay,” a different asshole answered.

“I think I… I think I see a sea lion?” Asshole three, excited.

“Where?” Asshole four.

“There, look! By the rocky area.”

It went on like this, a bunch of assholes talking about the beauty of the island, the landscape, the goddamn birds.

Chase ignored it all.

The boat finally lurched to a stop and Chase heard something heavy splash in the water.

“Chase, do you—”

Chase leaned over the side and dry heaved. Thick, gooey tendrils of bile dangled from her lips.

“Okay, you stay here,” Tate said.

If Chase was feeling even a little better, she would have slapped him for patting her on the back.

The others unloaded the boat. This took considerably longer than loading it, as the water was choppy now.

“Hey, I know you feel like shit, but staying on the boat isn’t going to help.” It was asshole two, Navy Lieutenant Josh Blaese.

“Okay,” Chase croaked. She spat again and then wiped her mouth with the back of her jacket sleeve.

“Let me give you a hand.”

Josh wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her with ease out of the boat.

When he plunked her down in the knee-deep water, some of it splashed up and struck her face.

This shocked her, cleared her senses a little.

Josh leaned into her, intending to offer her more support.

“No, I’ll be fine.”

Chase doubted her own words, but when she lifted her eyes to the ‘beautiful’ beach and saw all the men staring at her with matching goddamn pitiful looks in their eyes—awwwww, poor girl—she was determined to walk on her own.

Her first step was the most tenuous. She had terrible sea legs and the liquid in her inner ears was still vortexing like a tornado.

Chase nearly fell.

Josh held his hand out, but she dug her heels into the mushy sea bottom and steadied herself.

She was careful on her next step, less so on the proceeding ones.

Chase arrived on the shore, felt like dropping to her knees and raising her hands like in that iconic scene in Planet of the Apes.

She resisted.

Josh continued ahead of her further up the white sand beach.

“You guys have an idea where you want to set up camp?” he asked.

“I was thinking about a mile or two inland. It levels out and there are some small ridges that offer protection from the wind,” Andrew answered.

“Regular camper I see,” Josh said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, been here a bunch of times doing research for the museum. Haven’t been here yet this year, though.”

“Well, considering that most of the island is protected, as you know, nothing here changes much. A mile inland is a good spot. This time of year, there are no freshwater basins, though.”

“Not a problem, I have plenty desalinifying and purification tabs.”

“Good, you’re going to need them. It’s going to take us a good thirty minutes to hike out and with all this gear you brought, the four of us will need at least two trips.”

“Four?” Tate asked.

“Yeah, I think it’s best if Chase stays on the beach for a while until her seasickness passes.”

Tate grumbled something that Chase couldn’t make out, but she got the gist of it.

“Go. I’ll be fine,” she shouted.

The loudness of her voice made her eyes water.

Tate nodded.

“Let’s get started then,” Josh suggested.

***

Just over an hour later, Tate, Deputy Denishen, and Josh returned.

Chase was feeling better now. Her abdomen was still tight, and her throat burned, but at least her world was no longer spinning.

She’d debated grabbing one of the remaining tents and heading after them but, fearing that she’d get lost despite possessing the map that Andrew had given her, she elected to stay put.

“You doing okay?” Tate asked.

“Been worse.”

“Good enough to walk?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Where are Frank and Andrew?”

“They stayed behind to set up the camp. It’ll be dark in a few hours.”

Lieutenant Josh Blaese had since removed his life preserver and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his brown uniform shirt.

The man’s thick chest muscles were as tanned as his face, suggesting that he wore his shirt like this often.

Chase watched as Josh reached down and easily hoisted a massive black tent bag over his shoulder. Then he grabbed another bag and clutched that in one hand.

“You want some of those blood pressure meds, too?” Tate asked, tongue-in-cheek.

She smacked his arm.

“Not in the mood.”

Tate laughed.

They all grabbed a bag and followed after Josh.

The island was gorgeous, Chase had to admit. Sea Lions brayed on the rocky cliff, countless birds circled overhead.

This triggered something in Chase, a question that should have come up before leaving Laguna Beach.

“Hey, Josh, are there predators on the island?”

The ground beneath her feet transitioned from sand to grass.

“No, not enough large prey to sustain any bears, wolves, or coyotes. If the sea lions are mating, they can get territorial and occasionally sharks will come close to shore, but not often.”

Chase and Tate were breathing hard, as was Deputy Denishen, but Josh hadn’t even broken a sweat.

When they reached the camp, Chase wasn’t surprised to see that two tents had already been erected. A small fire pit, made of medium-sized rocks had also been constructed.

“Hi, Agent Adams,” Andrew said with a big smile. “This tent is yours.”

He indicated the larger of the two, a navy-blue monstrosity. When Chase thought about tents, which, admittedly was almost never, she pictured the classic, semi-circle variety. Zippers that always jammed, not enough space to stand up in. Barely large enough to lay flat.

The general shape of the tent that Andrew was indicating now was semi-circular, but it had two rectangular extensions on either side. Not only did Chase think she could stand easily inside of it, but thought that Tate might be able to, too.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. I’ve also inflated your mattresses and set up your sleeping bags.”

Josh tossed the tent he’d been hauling on the ground and then turned his eyes skyward.

“It’s light out now, but when it gets dark in an hour or so, it will be very dark. No artificial lights on the island.”

“That’s why we have…” Andrew reached into his backpack and pulled out a handful of black flashlights. “Two thousand lumens a pop. Fifty-five hundred kelvin.”

“You seem to have everything covered.”

“Thanks.”

Andrew couldn’t stop smiling and Chase once more made a mental note to remind the man why they were here.

“Is this tent mine?” Frost asked, indicating the smaller version of the Chase and Tate’s.

“Yep. All set up.”

“I’m going to put together my tent now,” Frank said. “Then I’ll help you with yours, Andrew. Paul, I assume you’re staying with your brother?”

The deputy nodded.

“Oh, one more thing,” Josh said. “There are no cell towers on the island. Rarely, you can catch a stray bar in Becher’s Bay, but not often.”

Andrew’s smile got even wider.

“That’s why I brought these.”

He set the flashlights down and reached back into his bottomless bag.

This time, he retrieved several walkie-talkies.

“Two-way radios—GMRS. Have a permit from the museum. Good for twenty-plus miles with line of sight.”

Chase had to give credit where credit was due.

She still wasn’t convinced that they’d be able to cover more than a quarter or even a fifth of the island in their planned three-day excursion, but without Andrew’s help—his maps, his flashlights, the radios, the ability to erect tents in record time—they’d be completely lost.

Josh stuck around to help with the tents and as the sun started to dip, he began collecting his things.

“You’re not staying?” Chase asked.

The man shook his head.

“Can’t. Have stuff to do back on San Nicolas. My CO knows you’re here, and I’ll be back in the morning to help with the search. I don’t want to overstep, but if you want my advice? Wait until morning until you start poking around. There are no predators, but the terrain can get dicey, especially north of here.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Tate said.

Josh squeezed the brim of his cap and lowered it slightly.

“See you at 0600.”

Chapter 18

“What do you think?” Tate asked. He sidled up next to Chase, who sat on a log in front of the makeshift fire pit.

“I want to get started, but I think Josh is right. We should wait until morning.”

Tate nodded.

“And what do you think of Andrew and Frank?”

“What do I think? I think that without them, we’d be fucked. I also think that someone has to tell them that this isn’t a vacation.”

“I’ll do it.”

Frost had been so quiet that Chase had forgotten she was even sitting with them.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m with you, they’re acting like a bunch of—” Frost stopped herself when Deputy Denishen came back from behind a tree where he’d gone to relieve himself.

“—school boys?” the man finished for her.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to offend,” Frost said quickly.

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to offend me, Agent Frost. Trust me, I know my brother, know that he can be a pain. But he means well. Man just loves his mysteries. Sometimes I think he would have made a better cop than me. But, yeah, don’t worry about Andrew. I’ll let him know to cool it on the whole smiling detective routine.”

“Thanks,” Frost said.

The deputy helped with the radios, made sure that they were on the same frequency and in working order. Tate double-checked the batteries in the flashlights.

A whole lot of nothing, really.

Just killing time.

Andrew arrived at the campsite twenty minutes later, his thin arms weighed down by dry logs. Frank came next, his arms equally full.

Tate and Deputy Denishen helped with the logs and Andrew went about creating a teepee with them in the fire pit.

The man whistled as he worked, and both Chase and Frost nodded at the deputy. He nodded back and then walked over to his brother.

Frost pulled Frank aside.

Chase and Tate observed both conversations, one ear on each.

Chase was again impressed with Alex Frost. The girl clearly still felt the effects of lingering trauma from her time in Mexico, but she had a strong demeanor about her, a presence. This was something, as a young, attractive woman, you needed in this industry in order for others to treat you with respect.

The deputy finished his lecture first and the bespectacled brother quickly made his way over to Tate and Chase.

The man was no longer smiling.

“Agents Adams and Abernathy… I just want to apologize. I don’t mean to make light of the fact that we’re searching for the remains of a young girl.”

“Hey, no worries,” Tate said. “You’ve been a great help so far.”

Frank didn’t go as far as his friend and apologize but his expression was considerably less jovial following his conversation with Frost.

They still had about a half hour of light left and after Andrew lit the fire, Chase grabbed a folding table—the man really had thought of everything—and set it up. She laid out her plasticized map on top of it and Andrew handed her a dry-erase marker.

“Hey, do you know where the Torrey Pines are on the island?”

“Of course. The largest grove is near here in Becher’s Bay Canyon. About a mile from here. Hiking can get pretty gnarly.” Andrew hesitated, did a little circle with his finger before planting it down near the south-western tip of the island. “Years ago, efforts were made to grow other groves to minimal success. But there should be another much smaller grove here. Also, here.” This time, he placed his finger down on an area to the north. “Not sure if this one took, though.”

Chase nodded and marked the regions with the pen.

“You and Frank should take the nearest grove. Frost and I will go to the furthest location, while the deputy and Tate will head to the one near the middle of the island.”

Andrew took off his glasses and cleaned the lenses on his shirt.

“Sounds good. But what… what exactly are we looking for?”

“Anything and everything. Bones, obviously, but clothing, too. Roots sharpened to points. If you find anything, don’t touch it, just reach out on the radio.”

“Got it.”

The fire was growing hot now and although Chase’s stomach was still unsettled from the boat ride, she knew that she’d need energy for the proposed hikes tomorrow.

Andrew, noticing this or perhaps just growing hungry himself, produced a bag of Russet potatoes and, after rubbing some olive oil and salt and pepper on the outside, wrapped them in foil.

He then inserted them into the outer edge of the fire, nestling them into the coals.

Next, Andrew removed a small cooler from his bag. Chase, limited camping experience as she had, expected the man to pull out hotdogs or sausages.

She was surprised to see five beautiful rib-eye steaks.

“I wasn’t sure how many of us there would be, so I only grabbed five steaks. I figure we can share.”

The steaks were large, at least fourteen ounces each, which Chase figured would be plenty to go around.

Like with the potatoes, Andrew applied oil, salt, and pepper to the meat.

Lieutenant Blaese had told them that there were no major predators on the island, and as Andrew cooked the steaks on a flat rock in the fire and the intoxicating smell of sizzling meat filled the air, Chase was grateful.

She was also salivating, the vomit-fest of a few hours ago long since forgotten.

The steak was fantastic, cooked to a perfect medium rare. The potatoes were also good, the skin salty and crunchy, the interior fluffy.

Eating outside like this, with the night wildlife coming alive around them, enhanced the experience.

Chase had intended to eat just a few strips of meat but was so hungry that she managed to polish off an entire steak herself. Even scarfed half of one of the large potatoes.

Afterward, she was so stuffed that she could barely move.

“Agent Adams?” Andrew asked hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“I brought a little bourbon, not much, just enough for a finger or two each. I wasn’t sure if—”

“It’s fine,” Chase said. After the work the man had put in today, and the help he’d been, a little alcohol seemed like an apt reward.

“Thanks. Would you like some?”

She would.

They spent the rest of the night around the fire, sharing stories, enjoying each other’s company.

At around ten, Chase decided to call it a night.

She was in charge—well, technically, the CVU was in charge—but she wasn’t a babysitter, didn’t go as far as to instruct everyone to do the same. But, after reminding them that Lieutenant Blaese would be returning at six, everyone decided to pack it in.

They said good night, thanked Andrew profusely for the food, and then retired to their tents.

With the fire going strong, it was warm inside their tent, but Tate suggested they shared a sleeping bag, anyway.

Chase smiled—she knew what this meant. She figured she’d be too full for sex, but she wasn’t.

And it was great.

Chase was forced to cover Tate’s mouth with her hand when her husband finished, muffling his moans and small gasps.

Afterward, still chuckling quietly to herself, she went outside to relieve herself.

She ducked behind a tree and squatted. Her eyes were drawn to the fire, watching the flames dance and flicker.

Another light in the distance suddenly caught her eye. Chase finished and then swung the flashlight toward Becher’s Bay.

The light blinked out.

What the hell was that?

Chase was inclined to investigate but thought better of it; she’d probably break an ankle in the dark.

She waited and listened for a few moments before retreating back inside her tent. The logs crackled as they burned, and cicadas filled the night with their song.

Someone snored softly from one of the other tents.

That night, Chase slept with her gun at her side.

Chapter 19

Chase was up before the sun. So was Andrew and they met outside the tent. He offered her some water from a canteen to moisten her toothbrush.

“How’d you sleep?” Andrew asked, trying to make conversation.

Chase’s mind immediately went to the light she’d seen in the distance last night.

“Fine. Hey, are there other campers on the island?”

Andrew shrugged.

“Sure. Camping is typically restricted to Water Campground and it’s not super busy this time of year, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a few other campers.”

“Which direction?” Chase’s eyes went back toward Becher’s Bay.

“Just south of here. Not far, actually.” This was the general direction that Chase had noticed the light. Still, she couldn’t help shake the feeling that it wasn’t just a random camper taking a leak, as she’d been doing. Chase felt as if they were being watched. “Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering.”

Chase was finishing brushing her teeth when the others started filtering out of the tent.

Frost was squinting one eye and scratching the backs of her arms furiously.

“I think there was an entire nest of mosquitoes in my tent last night.”

“I’ve got some ointment in my bag if you would like,” Andrew said.

“Thanks, but I’ll be okay.”

The only person not up was Tate.

Chase leaned back into the tent, kicked his foot inside the sleeping bag.

“Sleepyhead, wake up.”

Tate yawned and rolled over.

“What time is it?”

“Quarter after five.”

Tate made a face and rolled over. Chase kicked him again.

“C’mon, get up.”

Back outside, a mechanical roar reached Chase’s ears from the shore.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“I’m guessing it’s Josh’s RIB. Seems to be coming from near the beach,” Andrew said.

“What does RIB stand for, anyway?” Frost said, still furiously scratching her arms.

Now, the young agent reminded Chase so much of her old self that it was uncanny.

She used to scratch her arms, too, albeit for a very different reason.

“Rigid Hull Inflatable Boat,” Andrew said. “Hey, so, we can leave our tents here and most of our gear here, but I suggest taking all of our valuables with us,” Andrew said. His eyes fell on Chase. “There might be other campers on the island.”

Fine by Chase; she wasn’t planning on leaving anything important behind.

They packed up, made sure that the fire was fully extinguished.

After thirty minutes, they were all ready to go, a sleepy-looking Tate included. Chase slung her backpack over her shoulder and made sure her gun was back in her holster after taking it out last night. Then she grabbed her black hard case in one hand.

“What’s in the case?” Frost asked.

“Just something to make our search a little easier,” Chase said. “I’ll show you when we’re out there.”

Lieutenant Josh Blaese appeared about twenty minutes later, just a few minutes shy of six A.M.

“Mornin’,” he said with a wave. He was wearing an identical uniform as yesterday, again unbuttoned.

“Morning,” they said back.

Chase drew their attention to the map on the table where she’d marked off the areas with Torrey Pines.

“Andrew and Frank, you guys hit the nearest grove. Tate and Denishen, you hit this grove in the middle of the island. Frost and I will head to the furthest one.”

“Don’t you think that Frank and Andrew, being the most experienced hikers and knowing the island best, they should go to the furthest point?” Tate asked.

Chase shook her head.

“No, I want them to stay as close to the camp as possible.”

Chase doubted that whoever had tossed the girl’s bone—if, indeed, that was what happened—into the ocean would just be hanging around here waiting for their next victim. But she was also cognizant of the fact that they were the only group that wasn’t armed.

“Hey, I can go with them,” Josh offered.

“Good idea,” Chase agreed. This still didn’t change her approach, though. “I want radio check-ins every hour on the hour. If you see anything suspicious call it in. We’ve all got water and food… let’s plan to be back at the camp for five.”

They agreed.

“Ok, be safe.”

Josh saluted her playfully, then his group started off.

“Love you, Chase,” Tate said in her ear. He planted a kiss on her cheek.

“Love you, too.”

The second group left, leaving only Frost and Chase behind.

Chase glanced at the girl and her bare, red-streaked arms.

“You ready?”

“I’m ready,” Frost said with a nod.

***

The hike was easy for the first hour or so and neither of the women said much. The weather was beautiful, not too hot, and Chase actually found herself enjoying the scenery.

The wildlife was different—Frost spotted two brown/gray foxes, both pups, and there were so many birds overhead that they occasionally blocked out the still rising sun—as was the landscape, but it did have her thinking back to a different time.

To living in the wood cabin in upstate New York with Georgina.

She’d told Tate that when they were done with the FBI—as unlikely a proposition as that was—she wanted them to retire there.

“Hey, thanks for letting me come along with you guys,” Frost said out of the blue.

“We need all the help we can get.”

“Yeah, I know, but you could have asked Director Johnson for other agents to help out.”

“Director Johnson?” Chase asked, not recognizing the name.

“Yeah, he took over for Marcus Allen after… well, after Mexico.”

They continued to trudge over the ground, the vegetation beneath their feet becoming thicker and softer the deeper they went inland.

Ahead, Chase noticed a small forest.

“You… want to talk about what happened?”

It seemed to Chase that Frost was looking for a way to open up, but she was, admittedly, not good at small talk.

“I don’t… I don’t want to burden you.”

This, Chase had to laugh at.

“Frost, with the shit that I’ve been through, nothing you can say will burden me. Trust.”

Frost went quiet and Chase replayed what she’d just said in her head.

“Shit, that came out wrong. I’m sorry.”

Frost shook her head.

“No, it’s fine. I knew the risks when I took this job.”

“Doesn’t make it okay, though.”

Frost took a deep breath.

“You want to know why I first wanted to get into the FBI?”

“Sure.”

“Well, my mom died when I was eleven—leukemia. She was an actress and ever since I was little, I wanted to be like her. But after she died… the glamor was gone, you know? I thought that being an actress, immortalized in films, that you could live forever. But then her movies faded… I mean, they weren’t great, no blockbusters or anything like that, but I still thought that people would watch them. I watched them. Over and over again. They were on all the streaming services. You had to search for them directly, but still. But then they just… went away. Can only get them on DVD.” Frost sighed, then continued. “One night, I was watching TV, and I came across this telecast. It was this woman, Tracy Jones, hosting some obnoxious true crime show, and they were doing a live feed from outside this shitty apartment complex. They’d caught The Sandman. Finally. After murdering thir—well, twelve women, Constantine Striker finally caught him.”

“With Tate,” Chase reminded the woman.

“Yeah, Tate was there, too. But the woman only spoke about Con. I knew then that I didn’t want to be an actress. I wanted to be the person who made it possible for people to watch movies or read books or do whatever the hell they wanted without being scared of going out at night. I guess… I guess I also thought, deep down, that the real way to immortalize yourself is to do something like what Con did—bring down The Sandman. I was wrong. I was wrong about that, too.”

Chase stepped over a fallen tree marking the boundary to the forest. The temperature immediately dropped ten or fifteen degrees under the canopy of trees.

“What happened in Mexico?” Chase prodded, curious now. “Tate didn’t tell me much.”

Frost took some time before answering the question.

“We were only supposed to go there to do recon, to see if we could figure out what had happened to Emma and Tori. Weren’t supposed to interfere. And your partner? He was going to stick to that. I think… I think he wanted to protect me.”

“Sounds like Tate.”

“But I couldn’t—I couldn’t just sit around and do nothing. And the longer I waited, the more danger I knew that Tori was in. I fucked up, Chase. I came up with a stupid plan, tried to infiltrate a cartel stronghold. People… people died because of me.”

“They knew the risks, too.”

Chase assumed that Frost was referring to FBI Agent Santiago, basing this on what little Tate had told her and what she’d heard from the same talking head on TV.

Con knew the risks, too.

“Yeah, I know, but it was my plan. And… it didn’t work. I was captured and strung up next to Tori. And then… this… devil… he worked on her… flayed her foot. Ate… fuck, he ate some of her.”

Chase was tempted to reach over, console Frost, maybe hug her or do what normal people did when they noticed someone in pain.

But Chase was anything but normal. Besides, if Frost was really as much like her as she was beginning to think, despite this emotional outpouring, then she would absolutely hate something like this.

A bird chirped loudly overhead and both of them looked up. When Chase’s eyes drifted to Frost, she saw that there were tears on her cheeks.

The woman wiped them away.

“How do you do it, Chase?”

“Do what?”

“Live a normal life when you know the absolutely vile things that people are capable of?”

Chase was tempted to offer something pedantic—You just do. You do the best you can. You try to ignore everything you know about this world and just keep on living.

Maybe this was what Frost wanted, maybe not.

Either way, she couldn’t do it.

“You don’t. You don’t live a normal life, Frost. At least I don’t. I guess, some people can. Tate can, to some degree. But not me. Best case, is you get out before you can’t. Because if you’re in it, you are fucking in it for good.”

Chapter 20

According to the map, even when they exited the forest and covered another three miles on the other side, they were still a long way from the Torrey Pines.

All teams had checked in exactly on the hour and had reported the same thing: nothing.

Andrew, Frank, and Josh were still going through the Torrey Pines, whereas Tate and Deputy Denishen had found the other grove. They said it was small, no more than fifteen trees.

Like the others, they identified nothing interesting.

“This looks like a good enough place as any,” Chase said, placing her black case down in the middle of a clearing. She took her backpack off and set it down, too. Her shirt was glued to her back with sweat.

“Good place for what?” Frost asked, setting down her own bag.

“You’ll see.”

Chase unpacked the drone, then she wedged her phone into the controller.

“These goggles allow you to control the camera on the drone.” Chase took out the white headpiece, started to fit them over her eyes. “I think you can actually control the drone’s movements with the goggles, but the hell if I know how to do it.”

Chase used the remote to initiate lift-off and the drone lifted into the air, its four propellers emitting a high, tight whine.

“Shit, it’s fast,” Frost remarked.

“You ain’t seen nothing.”

Chase jammed the two joysticks, and the drone darted forward.

As always, this was incredibly liberating, watching the tops of the trees whip by in a blur, seeing the landscape change from plains to forest to rocks.

Chase disabled automatic obstacle detection, knowing that she still had a lot of ground to cover and would barely have enough battery life to get there and back.

After a few minutes, the terrain no longer changed.

It went rocky and stayed that way.

The drone also slowed—it was coming closer to the shore and the wind off the ocean was forcing the propellers to work harder.

“It would help if I knew what Torrey Pines actually looked like,” Chase said.

“I pulled up a few images before we lost cell signal. In the boat.”

“Don’t remind me.”

She pulled off the goggles.

“Here, slip these on.” Chase offered them to Frost.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll control the drone. I can see through the camera on my phone while you look through the goggles.”

“Okay.”

Frost seemed skeptical, but she eventually put the goggles on her face and adjusted the strap on the back of her head.

“Woah.”

“Yeah, it can be—” disorienting.

Frost was moving her head around rapidly and when she looked down, she started to lower her entire body toward the ground.

Chase laughed.

“Just stand up straight. Don’t walk around and don’t crouch. All you have to do is move your head just a little.”

Frost straightened.

“It’s so… real.”

“Yeah, 4k camera. I’m going to slowly fly over the coast, let me know if you see the pines.”

Chase, no longer worried that Frost was going to take a header, focused on her phone.

She flew the drone a little further north.

“There,” Frost said. She pointed directly in front of her, and this made Chase chuckle again.

“Those shitty half-dead trees?”

“That’s them—Torrey Pines.”

Chase snapped a few photos with her phone.

There were maybe twenty trees in total. All looked sickly, with only a few green needles clinging to crooked, witch-finger branches.

Chase lowered the drone carefully, took more photos.

She saw nothing on the ground but brown pine needles. No bones.

No bodies.

Two of the trees had fallen down the cliff and had crashed into the water below. At least two others seemed well on their way to joining their comrades.

“I’m going down.”

Chase flew the drone over the cliff face and then started to lower it.

“Turn your head around, Frost,” she instructed.

Frost did and Chase had obtained an eye-level view of the ground beneath the pines.

She snapped multiple photographs, zooming in places. There was nothing of interest; the ground didn’t even look disturbed.

“Okay, look straight down now. I’m going to go toward the water.”

Chase did this carefully, especially when a high wind warning appeared on the screen.

“There’s—”

“I know.”

It took three minutes to get down to the water below.

Here, the waves assaulted the rocky cliff face, breaking on the dead pine trunks first.

Chase pictured a young girl wandering around up top, maybe slipping off the edge.

Fish consume her flesh, leaving just her bones behind. The waves take her thigh bone and carry it, over the course of six or eight months, all the way to Laguna Beach for Frank Vitrano to find.

That was the best-case scenario.

It also wasn’t real.

Unless some sort of previously undiscovered industrious crab species was trying its claws at Indigenous art.

The screen now flashed with another warning: Low Battery. Return to take-off location.

Chase cleared the warning.

“I see it,” she said preemptively.

Chase took as many pictures as she could now, of the trunks, the branches. Tried to identify roots.

The warning returned.

“Chase?”

“Hold on.”

Chase was now only a few feet above the water. There was something on one of the logs. A flash of red.

She zoomed in.

The drone suddenly veered forward without her input.

“Shit!” Chase pulled the joysticks backward just as the camera was drenched with a wave.

The drone was mere inches from the rock wall when the blades finally managed to shed enough water to respond.

She hammered on the joysticks, causing the drone to shoot up and back.

Warning: battery low. Please return to the take-off location IMMEDIATELY.

Bright red letters now.

“I’m trying,” she said out of the corner of her mouth.

She finally cleared the tops of the trees and Frost turned around.

The camera was still zoomed in, and Chase spotted something in the ocean, far off the in the distance.

It looked like another island.

AUTOMATIC RETURN INITIATED now flashed and her phone beeped.

“Alright, it’s coming back. Frost, you can take off the goggles now.”

Chase set the controller down and looked at Frost.

She was green.

“Yeah, it can give you a little vertigo.”

Frost swallowed hard and nodded.

Chase took the goggles and put them back in the case.

“Have some water.”

Frost drank and her cheeks returned to their flushed state.

“That was pretty amazing.”

“Liberating. Did you see that red thing on the dead tree trunk?”

“Yeah.”

“Could be part of a shirt or something.”

She recalled the decayed clothes that had been discovered still draping the skeletal remains of Kirsta and Ivor Jankovish.

“Or a bathing suit,” she said. “Once the drone returns, I’ll look at the photos on my phone.”

Minutes later, they heard the characteristic sound of the quadcopter’s blades.

Then they saw it, high in the sky above them.

“It just lands by itself?”

“Yeah. It knows the coordinates of where it took off and uses the camera to fine tune it. Lands within a foot of the exact spot.”

“Incredible.”

“It’s also almost ten years old. I’ve heard that the new ones are smaller, lighter, and have more than twice the battery life.”

The drone lowered to the ground and came to a stop.

Chase was in the process of packing it up when her radio came to life.

“Agent Adams?” It was Denishen.

Chase checked the time. It was still thirteen minutes from the top of the hour.

“Yeah? What is it? You find something?”

“No, it’s Tate. He’s hurt.”

Chase felt adrenaline flood her system.

“What do you mean he’s hurt? Is he okay? What happened?” She fired the questions at a rapid clip.

“He—” there was a burst of static.

“Deputy? What’s going on?”

More static, then Paul Denishen returned.

“He’s okay. Just sprained his ankle pretty bad. Thought it was broken at first, but he can move it.”

Chase breathed a sigh of relief.

“Fucking idiot,” she said under her breath, not pressing the talk button this time.

In her periphery, she saw Frost start to grin.

Chase pressed the button on the side of the radio.

“Can you make it back to the camp?”

“Yeah. It’ll take us a while, but we can manage.”

“Okay, we’ll head back, too. Reach out to Andrew, tell him to return, as well.”

“Will do.”

Chase lowered the radio and finished packing up the drone. When she was adjusting her backpack, she noticed that Frost was still smiling.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Frost said, shaking her head.

“No, what is it?”

“Well, it’s just… I think you might be more normal than you think, Chase.”

Chapter 21

By the time Frost and Chase got back to the camp, the other search parties had already arrived.

Tate was sitting on one log, his leg resting on another. His face was pinched.

“How bad is it?” Chase asked.

“Not that bad. I wanted to keep searching,” Tate said. He shifted from one cheek to the other. “Ass is hurting from this log, though.”

“You could barely walk,” Deputy Denishen countered.

“It’s just a sprain.”

The deputy cocked his head and looked at Chase.

She understood.

Macho shit.

Nobody had ever died from a sprained ankle, at least none that Chase had heard of, but walking on it here, especially considering how challenging some of the ground could be, was a bad idea.

Chase retrieved a bottle of water and passed it to Tate.

She held it just out of his reach, forcing him to move to get it. Without thinking, he shifted his injured leg and immediately winced.

“You did that on purpose,” Tate said as Chase moved the water closer to him. He took it and drank.

“Wanted to see how bad it was.” Chase huffed and turned to the others. “Anybody see anything while out in the pines?”

Nobody spoke up.

“Okay, well, I guess—”

“What about that red thing we saw with the drone?” Frost piped up.

“You have a drone?” Andrew asked. “What model?”

“Not sure,” Chase said, answering Andrew first. “It’s about ten years old.” Then, to Frost, “I’ll check the photos.”

Chase got her phone out, started scrolling.

She found the image of the red thing clinging to the fallen Torrey Pine in the water. She zoomed in.

It looked like a torn piece of fabric, but there didn’t appear to be any distinctive markings on it.

“Anybody know what this might be?” Chase asked, holding the phone out for all to see.

“No idea,” Tate said.

“Can I hold it?” Andrew asked.

Chase shrugged and gave her phone to the man. He zoomed in even further.

“Can’t be sure, but I think it might be part of a life preserver. Yeah.” Andrew passed the phone back to Chase. “That’s what I think it is. I can see a little bit of the foam attached to the inside.”

The man was probably right, but what the hell did it mean? Could it belong to the girl whose leg bone they’d found?

Possibly.

Probably not, though, considering that Andrew had already confirmed that the bone had been in the water for upwards of six months.

“This is a fucking waste of time,” Chase muttered. “We need to figure out who the girl is. We’re not going to find anything here that we can definitively link to her here. Not after all this time.”

“Except there is no record of anyone having gone missing from the area.”

Chase flicked through the photos and came across the one that she’d taken of the island in the distance.

“What’s island is this?” she asked.

“Has to be San Nicolas,” Andrew said.

Chase stared at the photo a little longer.

“Is it possible that roots from some of these dead pines floated to San Nicholas?”

“Yeah, it’s possible. Will have to look at current patterns back in the museum to confirm. But…” Andrew trailed off.

“But what?”

“Well, I was just thinking; I might be able to isolate soil from deep within the markings on the bone.” Andrew cocked his head. “Chert, actually.”

“What the hell is chert?”

“A type of sedimentary rock. If they used the rock to sharpen the root, then there’s the possibility that some fragments could be embedded in the bone.”

“And you’d be able to determine if the chert or whatever is native to San Nicolas?”

“Yes—if chert is present. Not guaranteed, though, given how long the bone was in the ocean.”

Chase sighed.

“Why didn’t you tell us this before?”

Andrew licked his lips and his eyes darted.

“Well… because. After finding the Torrey Pine root fragments, I just thought that the bone had to be carved here. Never thought of roots drifting to other islands or to look at soil or chert.”

Chase was about to say something harsh, but she caught a look from Tate.

She scowled.

This wasn’t Andrew’s fault—he was just a museum curator, not a detective.

This was her fault.

She should have thought of this. Even though she’d never heard of Chert until a few moments ago, she should have asked more questions.

“Okay, let’s pack this shit up—we’re just wasting our time here. Josh, can you bring us back to Laguna Beach?”

The Navy lieutenant nodded.

“Not a problem.”

“Okay, I say we pack up then.”

“We didn’t quite finish searching the large Torrey Pine grove,” Andrew said. “I’ll also need to collect chert and soil samples for comparison. Think you can pack the gear up? I’ll only need an hour or so.”

Chase looked at Josh.

“Works for me. I’ll go with you,” he said.

“Me, too,” Frank and Deputy Denishen offered in unison.

“Fine. An hour,” Chase agreed.

The three of them started off.

“Frost?”

“I can help,” Tate said.

“Just sit.”

Chase and Frost started by removing the air mattresses from the tents and deflating them. Next, they packed up the pillows and blankets.

When this was done, they tackled the first tent—Chase and Tate’s.

That was when things started to go south.

Deconstructing the tent wasn’t much of an issue. Even though Chase hadn’t seen the others put it up, once Chase figured out how to remove one of the support poles, the rest came down fairly easily.

It was the bag that the tent came in that was the problem.

Chase and Frost spent a good ten minutes folding the poles and squeezing as much air out of the tent as possible.

But it just wouldn’t fit into the damn bag. Not even close.

It seemed… impossible.

“You guys need to—”

Chase, exasperated, glared at her husband.

“You keep telling us what to do and I’m going break your other ankle, Tate,” she warned.

Frost grinned while Tate held up his hands.

“Maybe we should try one of the other ones,” Frost suggested. “When the others get back, we—”

The radio that was clipped Chase’s hip suddenly came to life.

“Chase? Chase!”

The voice was so strained that she didn’t know which one of the men it belonged to.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“It’s Frank!” The voice cried. “Frank fell.”

“Fuck,” Chase muttered under her breath. “Can he walk? Can you get him back to camp?”

Her eyes drifted to Tate, who was trying to stand, trying to pretend that his ankle wasn’t hurting him.

“No! No, he—”

“There are three of you with him. Just pick him up—”

“No!” the man, who Chase was fairly certain now was Andrew Denishen, shouted. “He fell over the side! Frank fell off the fucking cliff!”

Chapter 22

Tate wanted to go, but Chase ordered him to stay put.

Map in hand, she and Frost ran toward the Torrey Pine grove.

“Can you see him? Can you see Frank?” Chase barked into the radio.

“No!” Andrew replied. The man sounded close to tears. “Can’t see or hear him!”

“What the fuck happened!”

“I don’t know! I don’t… I dunno. He just… I heard a scream, and then I came over. He’s… he’s gone. Right over the side.”

The man was breaking down.

“Stay where you are. Don’t go near the cliff.”

“Okay… hurry.”

Chase, who was lagging behind Frost, clipped the radio to her belt and increased her speed.

She soon caught and passed the other agent.

The closest grove was less than two miles away, and Chase, breathing hard, reached it in just over ten minutes.

“Andrew! Andrew!” Chase yelled. The grove was thick, but the trunks were relatively devoid of needles, giving her a fairly clear view all the way to the cliff beyond. “Andrew!”

She spotted someone coming toward her and weaved her way through the pines.

“Andrew!”

It wasn’t Andrew but Josh.

“Josh! Where’s Andrew? What the hell happened to Frank?”

Josh’s face was pale, and his exposed chest was heaving.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Can’t find him. I just… I heard what Andrew said over the radio.”

Chase cursed.

Frost arrived at her side and Deputy Denishen also appeared from between the trees.

“Where is he?” Frost asked.

“I don’t know, stick together—follow me.”

Chase started off at a rapid clip again, scanning through the trunks as she made her way toward the cliff.

The pines were thicker to the east, leaning toward the direction the sun rose.

She grabbed the radio again.

“Andrew? Where the fuck are you?”

When there was no immediate answer, she started to fear the worst.

That Andrew had followed Frank over the edge.

But when the radio came to life, Chase realized that she heard the man’s voice from in front of her somewhere, bouncing off the tree trunks.

“Near the cliff.”

Chase squeezed between two pines, then pushed branches out of her way with the back of her arm.

More trees, much thicker now, considerably slowed her progress.

Pine needles scratched her arms, and a branch slapped her in the face, but Chase continued onward.

She burst through a particularly thick section of pine needles and immediately pulled to a stop.

Chase found herself less than two feet from the edge of a cliff.

“Shit!”

The drop to the ocean below was a good three stories, maybe more. And with the water slapping against the rocks, and gulls swirling and squawking overhead, Chase was struck by a strong sense of vertigo.

“Easy.”

Someone grabbed her arm and held her in place.

Chase leaned away from the cliff and then took an unsteady step back.

Josh let her go.

“Andrew?” she called.

“Here.”

All eyes darted to their right.

Andrew Denishen was kneeling on the cliff edge, peering over the side.

“Andrew!” the deputy yelled at his brother. “Get the fuck away from the edge!”

He started toward the kneeling man, carefully navigating the rocky terrain. Some of the Torrey Pines were actually growing out of the cliff face, and he was forced to lift one leg over a nearly horizontal trunk.

Chase and the others stayed close to the deputy, but not too close that if he lost his footing, they were at risk of being toppled.

“Frank… he fell,” Andrew said. The man was gripping the side of the slate-colored cliff.

His arms were shaking.

“Back up, Andrew,” the deputy said, continuing forward.

“Frank… fell.”

The man was whispering now.

“Andrew…”

Andrew couldn’t take his eyes off the water below.

Jaw clenched, Chase gripped the trunk of the closest pine, indicated for Frost to do the same.

“Andrew…” the deputy said again, and then he lunged.

Chase held her breath as the man grabbed his brother by the shoulders.

For a moment, it looked as if Andrew was going to fight the deputy and Chase felt her heart seize.

But Andrew gave up and went slack.

Deputy Denishen dragged his brother backward. When they were safely away from the cliff, Paul angrily shoved his brother to the ground, then oriented his body between him and the cliff.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Frank, he—”

“Where did he go over?” Chase demanded.

“I—I don’t know. I just… I heard him scream.”

Chase looked at Josh next.

“I didn’t hear anything—just the radio.”

“How the fuck did he fall?” Andrew whispered, his lower lip trembling. “I have to… I have to find him.”

The man attempted to stand, but Deputy Denishen strode forward.

“Stay down.”

“I’ll look,” Chase said. “Frost?”

The woman nodded and came to her side.

Together, they found a spot on the cliff where the trees were particularly thick.

“Hold onto my belt,” Chase instructed.

“You—”

“Just do it.”

Chase grabbed the trunk of one tree and pressed her hip against an adjacent trunk, wedging herself between them.

She felt relatively stable.

More so when Alex Frost slipped a hand into the belt of her pants and leaned back.

“Ready?” Chase asked.

“Ready.”

Chase peeked her head out, leaned over.

Again, she was hit with vertigo but this time she was ready for it and gripped the tree even more tightly.

Waves splashed on massive rocks that jutted from the ocean. Water frothed.

The cliff was sheer.

If Frank had fallen, then the wind and water would have pushed his body against the cliff.

Chase leaned out a little more, felt her hip shift against the trunk.

A large wave peaked and then crashed against a series of rocks first, then the base of the cliff.

When it was sucked back out again, Chase thought the water was tinged red.

Maybe.

OR maybe she’d just imagined this—another wave came, and the water was a deep cobalt blue again.

“I can’t see,” she said. “Need to lean out a little more.”

“Chase—”

“Just a little more. Hold tight.”

Chase stretched forward again and just before she felt her hip begin to slip, she spotted something red.

This time, there was no mistaking the color.

“Frank!” she yelled. Her words were swallowed by the ocean. “Frank!”

Chase moved again, but her hands were moist with sweat and began to lose traction.

“Back! Frost, pull me back!”

Frost yanked.

For not being very large, the woman had some power in her body.

Chase nearly fell on top of her.

Now safely on solid ground, she took her first full breath in about a minute.

“Did you find him?” Andrew asked desperately.

“No,” Chase said, solemnly. “We have to get down there.”

“What about the drone?” Frost asked.

“It’s out of batteries.” She looked at Josh. “We have to take the boat.”

Chapter 23

“Did you find him?” Tate asked when they returned to camp. He’d managed to stand up and was now using a branch that he’d found to support his injured ankle.

Although her mind was elsewhere, Chase found the similarities between her husband and her ex-partner and now boss Jeremy Stitts to be more than a little disturbing.

Stitts had once joked with Tate about how everyone who worked with Chase eventually ended up with a bullet lodged somewhere in their bodies.

Until now, Tate had managed to avoid most of the Chase curse and while a twisted ankle was a far cry from a bullet wound, both men used canes.

“I think so,” she said, her face dour. “I think he fell over the side.”

“Jesus Christ.” Tate winced, put more weight on the branch. “How far?”

“Too far. Can’t see. Josh is going to take us in the boat to get a better look.”

Tate made a move as if to come with them, but Chase shook her head.

“You stay here with the Denishen brothers.”

Tate now looked as if he was primed to argue but then he noticed Andrew.

The man, pale as a white horse, was still shaking. Like Tate, he, too, needed support to remain standing. Only, he was using his brother and not a stick.

“Okay. Hurry.”

Chase turned to Frost and Josh.

“Let’s go.”

Nobody said anything on the hike back to Becher’s Bay. It wasn’t until they were wading into the shallow water toward Josh’s RIB that one of them spoke up.

“We need to call in the Coast Guard,” the lieutenant said.

He helped Chase and then Frost into the boat.

“Whose jurisdiction is Santa Rosa?” Chase asked, unsure as to why this hadn’t come up previously.

“Santa Barbara Sheriff’s Department.”

Josh started the engine and it roared to life.

Great, Chase thought. FBI, OC Sheriff’s Department, the Navy, Coast Guard, and now the Santa Barbara Sheriff’s Department. What’s next? NCIS? Why not throw in the CIA and LAPD while we’re at it? A veritable quagmire of law enforcement branches.

She shook her head.

Frank, how the fuck did you fall?

Josh wound up the anchor and revved the engine. The RIB skipped across the water, following the shoreline.

Beyond Becher’s Bay, Josh was forced to slow and move further away from Santa Rosa to avoid the large rocks.

Chase kept her eyes trained on the shore. The cliff was even larger than she’d estimated while up top.

Forty feet—at least.

Could Frank have survived such a fall?

Objectively, no.

Chase was well aware that even falling from a second-story roof had an estimated survival rate of only fifty percent.

The cliff face was twice that… and then there were the jagged rocks and the water.

Maybe Frank had landed in a shallow pool, avoiding the rocks. Maybe he’d just broken his legs and had passed out, face up.

Improbable bordering on impossible, but… one could hope.

“There!” Frost shouted over the roar of the RIB’s engine.

Chase followed the woman’s outstretched finger.

Hope was a dangerous, fickle thing.

Frank was dead.

They were a good thirty yards from the shore, but this was undeniable.

The man had fallen on a giant, half-submerged rock. From the way he lay on top of it now, Chase suspected that he had landed back first, smack dab in the middle. His head was beneath the waterline, his limbs floating back and forth with the tide.

The front of his shirt jutted unnaturally, the pointed section of the rock stretching the fabric upward but not piercing it.

“Can you get us closer?” Chase asked.

When Josh didn’t answer, she looked at him. The man’s eyes were locked on Frank’s corpse, his square jaw firmly set.

“Lieutenant, can you get us closer?” Chase asked again.

The man spun the wheel, leaned on the throttle.

He easily navigated through the first of the rocks, then the underside of the RIB jolted, and Chase and Frost were momentarily airborne.

They crashed back to the floor, and Josh immediately put the RIB in reverse.

The hull scraped across a submerged rock.

The twin engines shot a giant rooster tail into the air, but the boat barely moved.

“Hold on!” Josh yelled. 

He pushed the throttle down all the way. A terrible, high-pitched whine filled the air, but the boat finally started to wriggle free. Once dislodged, Josh eased off the gas and the RIB began to idle, still about twenty yards from Frank’s body.

“I can’t get any closer,” the lieutenant informed them. “We need to call in the Coast Guard.”

“How?” Chase asked, remembering how the island had no cell signal.

“With this,” Josh said, pulling the mouthpiece of what looked like a HAM radio off the dash.

“Do it, then take us back to the beach.”

***

Tate and the Denishen brothers had made their way to the beach and were standing there, unmoving, when Chase, Frost, and Josh waded ashore.

Andrew was in worse shape than even Tate, who looked to be in considerable pain even with his makeshift cane.

The museum curator’s lower lip was still trembling, and he appeared on the verge of hyperventilating.

Chase had known that it had been a mistake bringing the two civilians to Santa Rosa, but a scenario like this had never crossed her mind.

She looked at Tate, met his eyes, and shook her head.

As subtle as this gesture was, Andrew Denishen took notice.

“Nooo!” he wailed. The man dropped to his knees and the deputy went with him. “Nooo!”

Chase pulled Tate aside.

“Josh called the Coast Guard—we can’t get to the body. Coast Guard is bringing in the Santa Barbara Sheriff’s Department.”

Tate winced.

“This is a fucking mess, Chase.”

“I know.”

She massaged her forehead. The boat ride to Frank’s body hadn’t been bad, but the return voyage had messed with her stomach again.

“How?” The deputy asked. His arms were still wrapped around his brother’s chest, holding him up. “How is this possible? Frank… he’s an experienced hiker.”

Chase pictured the cliff face, how it appeared out of nowhere. One moment you were in the thick of the Torrey Pines, the next, you were staring at a sheer forty-foot drop.

Her eyes moved to Andrew, whose face was soaked with tears.

She looked away.

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

Chapter 24

“Let me take the heat for this one, Chase,” Tate offered. The Coast Guard had been in the area and had arrived first. Lieutenant Blaese had intercepted them, guided them toward Frank’s body.

The chopped came next, landing on the beach and a handful of serious-looking men in uniform filed out.

“No, this is on me,” Chase said, moving forward.

“I called you in,” Frost said. “This is my fault.”

Chase was having a hard time hearing over the chopper blades.

She stopped and looked at Frost, recalling how overwhelmed the woman had been at Cheryl Jankovish’s house, the relief that had washed over her when Chase had taken over.

“No,” she said flatly. “This is my fault.”

Before either of them could argue, Chase shielded her face from the gust of wind coming off the now slowing blades.

The two men leading the way toward them on the beach were clearly the OC and Santa Barbara Sheriffs. Their uniforms differed slightly, but both men wore caps with the word SHERIFF stamped on them.

Neither looked happy.

“Who the fuck is in charge here?” the one in the front demanded. “Where’s Deputy Denishen?”

Chase suspected that this must be the OC Sheriff.

“FBI Special Agents Adams, Abernathy, and Frost,” Chase said, indicating each of them as their names were mentioned. Tate was still coming up the rear, having issues with his cane digging into the soft sand.

“Who’s in charge?” the OC Sheriff repeated, not returning the introduction.

Chase opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Frost piped in.

“That would be me.”

Chase glared at the woman.

“No, this is a CVU case. I’m in—”

“CVU?” the second sheriff asked, his white, bushy eyebrows shrouding his eyes.

“Children’s Victim’s Unit out of Quantico. We were called—”

“Last time I checked,” the OC sheriff interrupted, “Frank Vitrano was an adult.”
Chase frowned.

“We’re here because a femur of a ten-year-old girl washed up on shore.

“The same bone you thought belonged to Cheryl Jankovish?”

“Her daughter,” Chase corrected.

The man’s big face reddened.

“Daughter, mother, don’t care. You come into my county because of a fucking bone and now we have a civilian dead on our hands.”

“Mr. Vitrano offered to help—”

Once more, it was impossible for Chase to finish her sentence.

“Did he sign a waiver?”

“No.”

“Did he fill out any paperwork before getting involved in your investigation?”

Chase didn’t answer this; the sheriff already knew that Frank had signed nothing.

“Didn’t think so. Did you think of informing the Santa Barbara Sheriff’s Department that you were coming to their island?”

The man growled.

“You guys fucked up. Fucked up real bad.”

“Easy now,” Tate warned finally reaching the party.

The sheriff ignored him.

“You FBI Agents, think you’re hot shit, don’t you? Coming in here and—”

“Why don’t you lay off?” Tate said again. He dropped the cane and moved in front of Chase and Frost.

“No, I won’t lay off. I’m going to take your statements, then the chopper is going to fly you back to Laguna Beach. I want you—all of you to stick around. I’m going to have a little chat with Special Agent Ryan Jackson and then I’m going to call Quantico, see what your boss there has to say about all of this.”

“Suit yourself,” Chase said. “And you want my statement? Frank Vitrano fucking fell.”

“So you say.”

“So we all say,” Tate piped up.

Now, the OC Sheriff grunted.

“Stay local. Sheriff Bunch and I are going to be doing a thorough—a very thorough—investigation of what went on here. Under no circumstances are any of you to visit any other islands. Understood?”

Not your fucking call, Chase thought. She kept her mouth shut, though, knowing that arguing with this man would only make things worse.

The sheriff seemed to be trying to incite her, as if he wanted her to say something that he could use to justify… what, exactly?

Throwing her behind bars? It wouldn’t be the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

It took everything she had to keep her mouth shut.

“Good,” the sheriff said. He raised his voice. “Deputy Denishen?”

Paul was nearby, still attempting to console his distraught brother. At the mention of his name, he perked up.

“You’re suspended until further notice. I want you on that chopper and off this goddamn island, got it?”

Chapter 25

The chopper touched down on a helipad less than a mile from Laguna Beach. They disembarked and then crouched low as the pilot fired up the blades in preparation to take off again.

Although the man behind the controls hadn’t said a single word during the short flight, Chase knew that he was going back to Santa Rosa.

“I’m parked close to here,” Deputy Denishen informed them. “I can take you to your cars at Laguna Beach.”

They all piled into the man’s work cruiser. When they arrived at Laguna Beach, they found the place full of beachgoers.

Thankfully, no media vans yet.

“I’m sorry,” Tate said to the deputy. He repeated the words to the man’s distraught brother. “Do you know if Frank had any next of kin?”

“He doesn’t,” Andrew said softly. “His parents died years ago and he’s an only child. No wife or kids.”

“Okay, why don’t you go get some rest? We’ll be in touch if—”

“I want to help,” Andrew said.

Chase cringed.

The man’s desire to help was what had gotten them into this mess in the first place.

“Not a good idea,” she said, shaking her head.

“Frank was my friend,” Andrew said solemnly. “All he wanted to do is figure out where the bone came from.”

“I understand. But you heard the sheriff,” Chase countered.

“I heard the sheriff say not to go anywhere, not to visit the islands. I didn’t hear anything about us not continuing to try to find out where the bone came from.”

Chase bit her bottom lip.

“He’s right,” Deputy Denishen added. “You said that the bone was your case, that the CVU was taking over. Frank’s death, that’s their case.”

His eyes drifted in his brother’s direction, who was again breathing heavily.

“But it’s your call,” Deputy Denishen continued.

Except it wasn’t Chase’s call.

It was the CVU’s call.

She was going to keep looking into where the bone came from. That was non-negotiable. As sad as what happened to Frank was, it was a terrible accident.

None of this changed the fact that there was a dead ten-year-old girl with an engraving on her femur that they had yet to identify.

Chase glanced at Tate.

The man was still in obvious pain from his twisted ankle, but he was clearly on board with the idea of all of them continuing with the investigation.

Avoiding reality by throwing yourself into your work was something that Chase had personal experience with.

She knew that it was just a stop-gap measure, that it only delayed the inevitable.

Dr. Matteo had spent years trying, and succeeding to some degree, to reprogram her mind.

Letting Andrew and Paul enact this defense mechanism seemed unfair to them, especially to the museum curator.

But she wasn’t their mother, nor their boss.

They were free to do as they wished, within the confines of the law.

And, selfishly, given what Andrew had said back on Santa Rosita about chert or whatever, she knew that his expertise, and his brother’s familiarity with the California political landscape, would be helpful.

As long as they didn’t come anywhere near cliff faces, she didn’t see the harm in it.

Chase also didn’t think too hard about it, either.

“Fine. Let’s head back to the museum, then. Go from there.”

***

“That was really fucking stupid,” Chase said to Frost as they followed the Denishen brothers into the Heritage Museum.

“I’m insulated. After what happened in Mexico and with the old Special Agent in Charge being let go, the worst Agent Jackson will give me is a reprimand.”

“That’s not the worst,” Chase countered.

“A suspension?”

“Not that, either. You have to work with these people, Frost—with the OC and Santa Barbara Sheriff’s Department. With people in the OC Field Office. You of all people should know how hard that can be if you start ruffling feathers.”

Chase was thinking about Tate and Con. How her husband had told her that Con’s relentless pursuit of The Sandman had made him something of a pariah.

Everything he touched was tainted. And this was the primary reason why Tate had asked for a transfer.

“I just wanted to help.’

Chase grabbed Frost’s arm and the two of them stopped. She stared the woman directly in the eyes.

“I like you, Alex. I think you’re a good agent. The problem is you remind me of myself.”

Frost’s brow furrowed—she didn’t understand what Chase meant, so she decided to make it explicitly clear.

“You don’t want to be like me. You don’t want this job to consume you. It will take everything, and I mean everything.”

Frost just stared.

“You guys coming?”

It was Deputy Denishen—he was holding the door to the museum open for them.

“Yeah,” Chase said, never taking her eyes off Frost. “We’re coming.”

Chapter 26

They all gathered back in Andrew Denishen’s high-tech office.

The man was talking a mile a minute, speaking of chert and soil composition and other such nonsense that Chase couldn’t care less about.

She let him talk, though, knowing that this was cathartic for the man. A distraction, too.

In the meantime, Deputy Denishen and the three FBI Agents sat at a round table drinking coffee and discussing their next steps.

“We have to find out who the girl is,” Tate stated.

Denishen shook her head.

“She’s not from California, at least if she was, she wasn’t reported missing in the last six months.”

“Then we need to broaden our search,” Chase said.

“Or our timeline,” Tate countered.

“What do you mean?”

The man took a deep breath. He’d since removed his shoe and Chase could see that his ankle had ballooned to twice its normal size.

“All we know is that the bone was in the water for six months. The girl could have been dead for years, even decades.”

Chase sighed.

“Actually, based on the level of collagen degradation, I can confirm that the girl died less than a year ago.”

Chase hadn’t even known that Andrew, his face buried in the special electron microscope or whatever it was called, had been listening in.

“Okay, that helps. A little, anyway.”

“What are the chances that someone kidnapped the girl from a different state and brought her here, to California? Then killed her, stripped her bones, carved that weird symbol, and tossed it in the water?”

“Only to have it drift back to shore,” Chase added to Frost’s scenario.

“Not impossible,” Tate mused, “but I’d say highly unlikely.”

“There are no missing girls that fit that description from the State of California,” Denishen said sternly. “I already looked into it.”

Despite the deputy’s comment, Chase was inclined to agree with Tate.

“So, are we looking at someone from out of state or a complete foreigner? Tourist, maybe?” Frost asked.

“No idea,” Chase admitted. “I’m going to call our partner back in Quantico. See if he can look into other databases, you might not have access to.”

Chase got up from the table and groaned. Her muscles were sore from hiking and likely from the sleeping arrangements, despite how comfortable the air mattress had felt.

Chase was used to running, but sneakers on sidewalks worked a whole different set of muscles than hiking on uneven ground.

Linus answered her call on the first ring.

“Chase? What the hell is going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just saw Stitts. He was on the phone… I could hear the person on the other end yelling.”

“Shit. What’d Stitts say?”

“Nothing yet. But he didn’t look happy.”

“Do me a favor? Keep him occupied for the next little while?”

“I’ll do what I can. What else do you need?”

Before leaving Virginia, Chase and Tate had met briefly with Linus, brought him up to speed on the case. They’d even invited him to come along but the man had, predictably, declined the offer.

“We’re still trying to find out where the bone came from. We’re working with an Orange County Deputy, and he already looked into local missing females, aged eight to twelve years, from the past six months or so. No hits. We need to expand our search.”

“How wide do you want to go?”

“All of the US?” Chase suggested.

“Yeesh. That’s going to produce a lot of names.”

“Just going back six months or a year.”

“Yeah, you said that. Still going to produce at least two thousand potential candidates.”

The number shocked Chase.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Nearly half a million kids go missing each year across the US. If I narrow that by age and gender… what about kids that were likely abducted by the other parent? Runaways?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, ninety percent of missing kids are runaways, and five percent of the remainder are taken by one of the parents, usually during a custody dispute.”

Chase closed her eyes.

“I don’t know.”

Linus waited patiently for her to collect her thoughts.

They didn’t collect.

“I don’t know,” she said again. “We still think that she might be someone local. Someone from one of the Channel Islands, maybe.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll get you the names. And I’ll keep Stitts off your ass for as long as I can.”

“Thanks. Owe you one.”

Chase hung up and addressed the weary group.

“Linus thinks he’ll come up with a couple of thousand names.”

“What?” Denishen said, his jaw dropping open.

“I know—I didn’t believe it either. But Linus doesn’t make mistakes.”

Chase slumped in her chair and took a mouthful of her coffee. It had gone cold.

“Hey, guys?” Chase looked over at Andrew who was leaning back from his computer monitor.

“What is it?” Tate asked, sounding as tired as Chase felt.

“I just finished the Chert analysis. Found trace amounts inside the grooves made in the bone. It was definitely carved on San Nicolas Island.”

Chapter 27

“You know I can’t let you do this.”

Chase’s eyes narrowed.

“You don’t let me do things, Tate,” she reminded her husband.

“Not what I meant.”

The two of them were standing in the hallway, away from listening ears.

“What did you mean then?” Chase said harshly. “I saw San Nicolas from Santa Rosa. Saw the island, right by the dead Torrey Pines. One of the roots probably drifted there and that’s where whoever did this carved the bone.”

“You heard the sheriff, he—”

“Fuck the sheriff, Tate. This is our case.”

“It’s a Navy-owned Island.”

“What’s your point? We have jurisdiction. It’s a CVU case.”

Tate grew frustrated.

“I know that. But you can’t call the sheriff and ask him to arrange for someone to take you there. I bet he’s already notified the Navy, or if he hasn’t, then the lieutenant has. They won’t let you onto the island.”

Chase cocked her head, kept her lips pressed together.

“What? You’re not planning on sneaking onto the island, are you?”

“That’s exactly what I plan on doing.”

“Chase—you can’t be serious.”

“I am! What will you have me do? Sit here and wait for Linus to come back with two or three or five thousand names? Go door to door across America trying to find out who this girl is?”

“It’s better than sneaking onto the island! It’s a controlled island, Chase. They have gun ranges and… they find you there, they might fucking shoot you. And I can’t go anywhere with this bummed ankle.”

“I know.”

“Chase!” Tate said, his frustration bubbling over into fury.

“You heard Andrew and his story about the Lone Woman of San Nicolas.”

“You think there’s a tribe of—”

“I’m just saying, Navy Island or not, there might be others living there.”

“Or this might all be some sort of sick joke.”

Chase ignored this comment.

“It might also be someone in the Navy who’s responsible.”

Now, Tate threw up his hands.

“Even more reason not to go alone! If it is someone in the Navy, they’ll just shoot you and say that you were a trespasser! Why not call Lieutenant Blaese? He might be able to help.”

“And get him suspended like Deputy Denishen?”

“! You are not going alone,” Tate said flatly.

Chase had predicted this response, had acclimated herself to it, promised herself not to lose her cool.

“You remember Mexico?”

Tate bared his teeth.

“What about it?”

“I told you I was coming with you and what did you say?”

Tate refused to answer.

“I have to go, Tate. Just to check it out.”

“I’ll call the sheriff, tell him what you plan on doing. I won’t let you go alone.”

They’d worked together for years and while they didn’t always see eye-to-eye, this was the thing that Chase feared most.

She loved Tate. Loved Rachel. Loved their weird, blended family unit. But she’d made it clear, from the very beginning, that her job would always take priority.

Tate exhaled and calmed down a little.

“If I could go with you, I would. You know I would. But going alone? That’s just dumb. You’re going to get hurt or worse.”

Chase straightened.

“I’m not going alone.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m taking Frost with me.”

***

Chase let Tate fume. She knew he wouldn’t call the sheriff.

“I can get you there,” Deputy Denishen said when she explained what she wanted to do.

“How?”

“The OC Sheriff’s Department has a couple of boats.”

Chase shook her head.

“They won’t let us take them. And I’d rather that the sheriff be kept out of this.”

“I know. But the boats are rarely used. I can get you one without anyone knowing.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m tight with the deputy who runs the discharge service. If anyone asks, I’ll say I took it out for personal reasons. Not really allowed but not unheard of either.”

“No. If anyone asks, the FBI took it. I took it.”

Denishen didn’t like the idea, but Chase had already done enough damage to the man’s career. He was technically suspended and the last thing she wanted was for the man to lose his job over what was, in all likelihood, a wild goose chase.

“You okay with that?”

“Yeah.”

“I have a buddy who owns a boat,” Andrew said. “I can—”

“No. If we can’t get a Sheriff’s Department boat, I’ll find another way. You’re to stay here, no matter what.”

Andrew clamped his jaw shut.

Next up, Frost.

“I want you to come with me,” she said. Chase wasn’t sure how Frost would react to this, especially considering the conversation they’d held outside.

“I’m in.”

“If your boss—”

“I said, I’m in.”

Chase nodded.

“Andrew, I need you to tell me everything there is to know about San Nicholas Island. Everything from where the Navy outposts are, beaches where we can lay anchor, where the Lone Woman of San Nicholas was found.” She paused. “I also need you to look at ocean currents, figure out where the most likely location a root from the Torrey Pines might have washed up. We’ll start there.”

“On it.”

“When do you want to go?” Denishen asked.

Chase deliberately avoided making eye contact with her partner and husband.

“How soon can you get the boat?”

“Probably easier sooner rather than later—Sheriff Wilson is likely still on Santa Rosa.”

“Then now. I want to go now.”

Chapter 28

“You sure he’s going to be alright?” Frost asked as they waited on the sand of a small inlet about a quarter mile from Laguna Beach.

Chase replayed her conversation with Tate back at the museum, prior to leaving with Frost.

Like their first argument, they’d tried to keep their voices down but, inevitably, they’d gotten loud enough for Frost to overhear.

Tate had always been protective of her—I am man, I will save you, little girl—but he usually expressed his concerns in a more conciliatory tone.

Not this time.
Aside from physically restraining her, Tate had said and done pretty much everything he could think of to keep her from leaving. He’d made some good points about the island, and how heading there without prior clearance might be dangerous, but his fears seemed misplaced.

Her proposed outing was far less dangerous than, well, nearly anything that she’d previously done since partnering up with him.

It had to be Mexico.

That was the only reason Chase could think of to explain why Tate was acting this way.

Mexico had fucked with his head.

Con’s death had fucked with his head.

Well, sorry, Tate. But I have to do this.

You know I have to do this.

“He’ll get over it.”

They waited in silence for a good fifteen minutes before they heard the sound of a boat approaching.

At first, Chase thought that it was someone else, that it couldn’t possibly be Deputy Denishen.

The boat was all black, no markings on it at all. It was similar in style to the Navy RIB, but maybe half the length.

Sleek and fast.

It rocketed toward shore before the conductor eased off the accelerator about twenty meters out.

The boat was also evidently more adapted for beach docking because Deputy Denishen—who was indeed driving the boat, Chase saw now—eased the front of the vessel right onto the shore.

Then he hopped out.

“Don’t use these much, huh?” Chase asked, admiring the boat.

“No. If we did, our annual budget would almost entirely be spent on gas. This thing tops out at around 65 miles an hour, but I don’t recommend you push it to the limit. It can be tough to control on choppy water. At around 50 mph, you should get around the backside of San Nicolas in about an hour, out of sight from the Navy base. You have more than enough gas to get you there and back, but that’s about it. No sightseeing.”

“Didn’t plan on it.”

Deputy Denishen was all business now.

“Come on, let me show you how to operate it.”

Denishen gave both Chase and Frost the rundown, neither of which had any experience driving a boat. Thankfully, it didn’t seem that difficult.

“There are two major differences between this and a car: one, at top speed—” Denishen cocked his head a little to his left— “at near top speed,” he corrected himself, “it takes a while to stop. Two, it’s got a wide turning radius. You yank that wheel while going forty miles an hour or greater, you’re going to go for a swim. It has an ECOS—an engine cut-off switch—which you should attach to your wrist while driving. It disconnects, and the engine will immediately die.”

“What about the tents?”

Denishen nodded and walked to the back of the boat. There, he opened a compartment.

“Two tents, two sleeping bags. Fresh water jugs, other supplies. Won’t be nearly as comfortable as what my brother set you up with, but it will work in a pinch.”

“I thought you told Tate that we’d be back tonight?” Frost said.

“I did.” Then to Denishen. “Anyone know you took the boat?”

“Just my buddy in discharge. He won’t say anything.”

“Good.” Chase, as averse to shaking hands as she was, now offered her palm to the deputy. He shook it.

“Thank you.”

Denishen nodded and he hopped off the boat.

“One more thing,” he said, holding the bow. “San Nicolas will have even worse reception than Santa Rosa—the Navy equipment will mess with all outgoing and incoming cell signals. Once you get close, you’ll be on your own.”

“I know. Thanks again.”

Denishen nodded once more and then gave the boat a hard shove.

Chase started the engine.

“Now, put it in reverse and go slow,” he said over the sound of the twin outboard motors.

Chase obliged the first request, but not the second.

She didn’t do anything slow and wasn’t about to start now.

***

Tate’s stomach was in knots. The slow wrenching of his guts was so bad that he’d completely forgotten about his injured ankle.

I shouldn’t have let her go.

A cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

Why the fuck did I let her go?

“Hey, you going to be okay?”

Andrew was asking him if he was going to be okay. Meanwhile, the curator’s friend had just died. Died a horrible death.

“Fine.”

But he wasn’t fine.

And Tate knew why.

Because of fucking Mexico.

Tate was no stranger when it came to death, both in his job and also, to a lesser degree, his personal life.

He’d nearly lost his ex-wife and daughter.

Both his parents were dead.

But Con…

Con going out like that?

A shudder ran through him.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure. Just help me find who this fucking girl is, okay?”

And get Chase back here safe and sound.

Part III — San Nicolas Island

Chapter 29

The faster Chase pushed the boat, the less it swayed and the less nausea she felt. At least, that’s what she told herself.

As per their discussions back at the museum, based on ocean currents, the most likely location for Torrey Pine roots to wash up at San Nicolas Island was to the south-eastern edge of the island. According to satellite images that Andrew had been able to obtain, this area was mostly a sheer cliff face. Because the entire island was Navy-owned, and was off-limits to the public, more precise images, including potential cave systems, were unavailable.

Chase had debated reaching out to Linus to see if he could access them but decided against it.

The fewer people that knew about this excursion, the better. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her partner, but she wanted to keep Stitts as far away from what happened off the coast of California as possible.

She trusted her boss, too, trusted him implicitly, but after Denishen had been suspended, she didn’t want to put anyone else in a precarious situation.

Andrew had also informed them that the Lone Woman of San Nicolas, Juana Maria, the last of the Nicoleño people, had been discovered at the complete opposite side of the island: a cave system in the northeast portion in a place called Corral Harbor.

While there were several Navy instillations on San Nicolas, there were two main cores: the airstrip and airbase near the east, and a satellite system near the island’s center.

There were outposts, too, but how many and where they were located was unknown.

Chase and Frost had developed a cover story should they be spotted by the Navy, of which there was a high probability.

It was simple, as, in Chase’s experience, these had the highest probability of being believed.

They were with the FBI—true—and were part of the team investigating Frank’s death—false—and had been disoriented by the unfamiliarity with the Pacific Ocean—probable.

Chase wanted to avoid any scenario in which they were discovered, however.

Andrew, having several HAM and CB radios at his disposal, and his brother, Deputy Paul Denishen, with access to all OC Sheriff’s Department communications, had discovered that the Coast Guard had reached out to the Navy for support in recovering Frank’s body.

They planned on using this diversion to slip in undetected.

Or, that was the plan.

The most direct route from their launching spot was to head between Santa Catalina and San Clemente Islands, but considering the population and popularity of these, in particular the former, it was likely that whatever Navy presence hadn’t been drawn to Santa Rosa would have their eyes on this area.

Chase cleared the southern tip of San Clemente Island, staying far from the shore to avoid detection.

“Can you see San Nicolas?” she shouted over the engine. Since leaving Santa Rosa via helicopter, a heavy fog had settled in, and the cloud cover had grown substantially.

Good for reaching the island undetected, not so good at actually finding the damn place.

“No,” Frost yelled back. She’d laid out one of the maps that Andrew had provided them, and the wind was wreaking havoc on it.

Even with both hands pressing it to the seat in the front of the boat, the top continued to flap wildly.

“It’s a good eighty miles out still. Stay south for another fifteen miles, then head north.”

Chase nodded and stayed the course.

As she drove, the fog grew thicker still. Before heading north, it had become so thick that it was like navigating through soup.

Condensation soon dotted the small windshield in front of the steering wheel and slicked Chase’s face.

She had no choice but to slow now. Ramming into the side of a sailboat or pleasure craft would put a swift end to their stealth mission.

For forty minutes, the all-black boat cruised the ocean.

The storm clouds above darkened, and Chase hoped that they passed on. One thing that they hadn’t looked into, during their analysis of Navy outposts, San Nicolas Island’s terrain, and coastal flow, was the weather.

If a storm hit, they were cooked.

But Chase was as determined as ever.

“Frost? Can you check in the storage bin to see if there are raincoats in there?”

“What?”

Alex Frost was less than five feet from her but was still having a hard time hearing. The engines were just so fucking loud even at their current speed, which Chase clocked at somewhere between twenty-five and thirty miles per hour—the speedometer was the old-fashioned type, non-digital, and the needle was bouncing more than her knees used to when jonesing for a heroin fix.

With this progressing weather system, they might not be seen approaching the island, but they’d definitely be heard.

Chase pulled back on the throttle a little more.

“I said, can you check to see if there are raincoats in the storage bin?”

Frost, clearing resorting to reading her lips, paused for a moment after she finished before nodding.

She folded the map, jammed it into the front of her pants, and headed to the back of the boat.

Due to the sway of the hull, it took her time to get there, having to stop and grab the sides several times.

Until now, Chase’s seasickness had been held at bay, even after slowing down. But seeing Frost wobble to and fro the way she was, made her queasy.

Chase dry swallowed several times.

Not now. Not fucking now.

Chase returned her gaze to the front of the boat and listened as Frost undid the hatch on the storage bin.

She heard the woman root through the tent and whatever else was in there.

“There are raincoats! Raincoats and… other things.”

Frost clearly wanted her to turn and look, but Chase didn’t want to risk being overcome with the urge to vomit again.

She’d had enough of that earlier today to last a lifetime.

The lid closed and Frost returned.

“Here,” she said, passing Chase a black rain jacket. It looked too big for her, but she took it and slipped it on, one arm at a time, making sure that she had at least one hand on the wheel at all times.

“Also found these.”

Frost slipped something into her hand.

Chase gripped what felt like a strap of some sort and then looked down.

She recognized it immediately.

“In case we’re hit in a storm,” Frost said.

It was a headlamp.

“Good,” she said.

For the next hour, they plodded along, Chase finding that as long as she stared straight ahead the nausea wasn’t so bad.

“Hey, how much further?” Frost asked.

“I have no—” idea, Chase meant to say but stopped short.

San Nicolas was suddenly visible in the distance, dead ahead.

The island itself acted as a shield to the fog.

Chase and Frost found themselves staring at a yellowish cliff face. It wasn’t quite as sheer as the one back at Santa Rosa, but they were still at least a mile out.

“Hold on,” Chase said.

She waited for Frost to grab the sides of the boat before gunning the engine.

The boat rocketed forward, and Chase gripped the steering wheel tightly.

The waves were more substantial here closer to the shore and the front of the boat dipped, then hit the next wave hard.

Chase was nearly sent airborne and bent her knees, preparing for the next strike.

This continued for a few minutes before Frost said, “When are you going to slow—” they hit a wave and Frost grunted. “—down?”

“Just a little closer,” Chase said through gritted teeth. “Just a little closer.”

The island grew larger, the cliff face more gnarly.

She saw Frost pull out a pair of binoculars, another find in the storage chest and brought them to her eyes.

Chase also scanned San Nicolas.

Andrew had informed them that the island would likely have set patrol routes and times, although he wasn’t privy to the details.

Chase saw not a single soul. She thought she spotted a tower of some sort in the distance and figured it was near the airfield, maybe an air traffic control tower.

“I don’t see anyone,” Frost said over her shoulder as she removed the binoculars from her face.

“Good,” Chase replied and then completely cut the engine.

The boat continued to race forward at a considerable clip but eventually started to slow.

“What now?” Frost asked.

Chase swallowed again, instantly regretting her decision to approach the island this way.

“Now,” Chase gagged. “Now we coast to the finish line.”

Chapter 30

If Tate had been capable of pacing, he would have. If his ankle wasn’t hurting so badly, he would have been walking up and down Andrew’s high-tech office so rapidly that his shoes wore out the floor tiles.

To make up for this inability, he tapped his cane on the floor.

He knew that it was driving Andrew nuts, and, to be fair, it was also irritating him, but Tate was helpless to stop.

He also continuously checked his phone to see if Chase called despite knowing that even if she could, she wouldn’t.

I should have never let her go.

That mental mantra had become nearly as constant as the cane tapping.

Deputy Denishen opened the door. His head was down and his hair damp.

“How’d it go?” Tate tried to use the cane to push himself to his feet, but he accidentally put too much weight on his ankle and winced.

He sat back down.

“Fine. No one knows they took the boat.”

“Is it raining?”

“More like misting.”

Tate craned his neck around.

“Andrew, can you check the weather? If they get caught out there—”

“They’ll be fine,” the deputy said.

Tate’s eyes rocketed back to the man who had spoken.

“Don’t tell me they’ll be fine,” he snapped. “We should have never let them go.”

Denishen cowered a little, unsure of what to say.

He made the correct choice not to speak.

“Andrew? The weather?”

“Yeah, checking.”

A few moments later, he said, “Rain looks to be passing over Laguna Beach. Shouldn’t get that much precipitation at all.”

“I don’t give a shit about Laguna Beach. I want to know about San Nicolas.”

“Right.”

Andrew turned back to his computer while his brother went to the coffee maker and started to make a fresh pot.

“And?” Tate prodded when Andrew didn’t say anything for a good minute.

“I, uhh… uhh…”

“Just spit it the fuck out.”

Tate took his time getting to his feet and slowly plodded over to Andrew.

The weather map was displayed on his monitor.

And it didn’t look good.

“Fuck.”

“I mean, it could blow over.”

“And it could be a fucking monsoon. Look at how red that storm is!” Tate aggressively tapped the monitor. “Why the fuck didn’t you check the weather?”

“Hey,” Deputy Denishen said.

Tate gritted his teeth.

“What?”

He was itching for a fight and his mind went somewhere dark.

Years ago, before even meeting Chase, he’d been in a bad place. Unable to pay for Rachel’s ongoing medical treatments, and flat broke from paying for his wife’s legal fees, Tate had had to resort to taking loans from some shady individuals.

And to pay back the interest, he’d been forced to shake down low-level drug dealers.

Not his proudest moment, but goddamn did it feel good to punch someone every once in a while.

Now, as a domesticated husband and father, stepfather as well, he rarely got the chance.

Tate balled his fists and shot a seething glare at Deputy Denishen, knowing full well that this man wasn’t responsible for his rage.

“Agent Abernathy, you want something to drink?” The man jiggled the carafe in his hand. Dark liquid sloshed inside. “Something stronger than this?”

Tate stretched his fingers and finally relaxed.

“I would,” he said honestly. “Yeah, I would.”

Denishen nodded.

“Andrew, you still have that bottle of Bulleit hanging around?”

“Yeah, same spot as before.”

Denishen turned his back and opened the cupboard above the coffee maker.

“You want one?”

“Yeah.”

Tate collapsed into the chair and Andrew joined him, leaving one empty chair between them. The deputy placed the bourbon on the table along with three glasses.  He poured about a finger’s worth in the first glass, thought about it, and made it three.

He did the same for the other two glasses and then slid these across the table before sitting.

Tate grabbed his glass and sucked down about half of it in one gulp, hissing and baring his teeth as it went down.

The Denishen brothers sipped more conservatively.

“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to snap at you—at either of you.”

Andrew nodded; Paul drank.

“And I’m sorry about Frank. It’s fucked up what happened to him.”

“Thanks,” Andrew muttered. “I still don’t understand how he fell.”

Tate had nothing to say to this; he hadn’t seen the cliff that Frank had fallen to his death because he was a fucking idiot who had twisted his ankle like a child slipping off a curb.

“He was an experienced hiker,” Andrew added as sipped his bourbon.

Tate had to remember that while he and Deputy Denishen were intimately familiar with death, Andrew was a museum curator.

Neither he nor Frank should have ever been on Santa Rosa Island.

Tate finished his drink and then slid the glass over to Paul.

The man didn’t hesitate; he poured an even healthier amount this time around.

“Thank you.”

Tate took his time. He wanted—maybe even needed—the alcohol to take the edge off, but getting drunk was a terrible idea.

“Hey, are you and Agent Adams more than just partners?” Andrew said.

Tate looked at the man.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to pry.”

“She’s my wife.”

Andrew’s eyes widened and Paul choked on his bourbon.

The left half of Tate’s mouth lifted upward.

“Yeah, I know, I know. Batting way out of my league.”

“It’s not that,” Andrew said, shaking his head. “I just couldn’t imagine working with family.”

This, Paul laughed at.

“Cheers to that.”

He raised and tilted his glass in his brother’s direction. Both Tate and Andrew returned the gesture.

“How long…” Andrew cleared his throat and changed the subject. “How long until the Santa Barbara Sheriff’s Department release Frank’s body? He… he doesn’t have family and I think… I think I’m his only friend.”

Tate let Paul, being more familiar with the local environment, handle this one.

“Usually just a day or two for an accident like this. But considering that they had to call in the Coast Guard and given the fall… a week, tops.”

“Okay. I… I just don’t know what to do.”

“I can help you, Andy.”

“Thanks.”

Tate’s phone rang.

He read the call display.

“Gotta take this, sorry.” He answered. “Linus? What’s up?”

“Hey, tried to get ahold of Chase, but she isn’t picking up.”

Linus paused, expecting Tate to fill him in. Tate did not oblige.

“Anyway,” the man said, drawing out the word, “I looked into that list of names that she asked for. It’s… a doozy—a long ass-list. Twenty-eight hundred and seventeen names.”

“Shit.”

“I warned her.”

“And that only includes people from the US, right? Not visitors? Aliens?”

“That’s right. It’s just missing persons reports from US states that fit the age and gender. Now, I’ve organized the names according to proximity to Orange County, but—”

A thought suddenly occurred to Tate, his mind still processing what had happened to Frank.

“What if it was a boating incident? If the girl went missing offshore, where would it be reported?”

“Not entirely sure, give me a second.”

Deputy Denishen, who had been listening in, offered an answer.

“Depends on where the child went missing. If it was three or more miles offshore, the Coast Guard would be responsible for leading the investigation.”

“Would there still be a report in the NCIC?”

“Absolutely.”

Linus came back on the line.

“Right, so it looks like it depends on where the child went missing. If—”

“—they went missing three miles off-shore, the Coast Guard would lead the investigation,” Tate finished for his partner.

“Correct,” Linus said, a little hesitantly. “And they would also be in the National Database, which means that they would be included in the list I’m about to send you.”

“Paul, did you look into missing persons’ reports filed by the Coast Guard?”

The deputy shook his head.

“I don’t have access to those. I’m sure that Sheriff—”

“No,” Tate said sharply. “The Sheriff has already made it clear that he wants to stay out of all of this. Too bad it’s not his decision to make.” Tate put the call on speaker now. “Linus, can you look into missing persons that were reported to the Coast Guard? Same age, gender, and time frame?”

“On it. I’ll call you back if I find something. In the meantime, I’m sending you the list.”

“Thanks. I’ll give it a look.”

Chapter 31

The skies opened up just as the boat reached the rocky shore.

“Grab the tent and the headlamps!” Chase hollered as she tossed the anchor overboard.

It had been beginner’s luck—the OC Sheriff Department boat had coasted perfectly, coming to a near-dead stop next to a large outcropping of rocks.

No beach, but Chase didn’t foresee an issue with hopping from rock to rock before landing on solid ground.

Even with their rain-slicked surfaces, it was only about ten meters from the cliff face.

Which, incidentally, was considerably steeper than it had appeared while still a good mile offshore.

Chase pulled the keys out of the ignition and slipped them into the pocket of her rain slicker.

She checked that her gun was still safely holstered—it was—before taking a jug of water from the storage bin.

Frost was already on the first large rock, easily stepping over the sideboard to place a foot on it.

She made sure that her footing was secure and then, with the tent strapped on her back, the binoculars around her neck, and the two headlamps in one hand, left the boat entirely.

The rain was increasing in intensity, and thick, pregnant drops came straight down.

A glance skyward told Chase that it was only going to get worse.

They needed to get off the boat before traversing the rocks and cliff became impossible.

Frost effortlessly navigated to the second and third rocks and Chase, still feeling her guts churning, followed her.

Within minutes, they were on solid ground. Not a moment too soon, either, because the downpour became torrential, the rain pelting them at a forty-five-degree angle now.

The howling wind funneled down the side of the cliff and blasted them in the face with cold rain.

“Up,” Chase said. She was only about five feet from Frost but was forced to shout. “Head up!”

Frost nodded, confirming that she’d heard and understood.

Still, it took the woman a good thirty seconds to a minute to figure out their best path. The right was impassible, an eight-foot moderate incline of smooth rock, followed by a sharp incline, maybe sixty degrees. Just two feet beyond this, it went straight up.

The middle was less treacherous, but without proper climbing equipment and experience, Chase didn’t think that was an option, either.

Frost went left, Chase followed.

Despite how wet the rocks were, they were also craggy, making footing not much of an issue.

For now.

Water had started to cascade down from above, filling in well-traveled grooves in the cliff. Right now, these were only slightly more than a trickle. If the rain kept coming, though, they’d eventually turn into mini waterfalls.

Chase kept her eyes peeled on the ground to ensure she didn’t slip, but also on the lookout for Torrey Pine roots and more bones.

As expected, she saw neither.

There were no obvious worn paths, either.

But Frost found a way up.

It was hard going.

The incline continued to steepen, and after only about ascending a couple dozen feet, they had to veer even further to their right.

Soon, they were forced to lean forward and hunch low to avoid slipping.

Chase had been directly behind Frost but now, concerned that if the agent fell, they’d both be knocked down, she moved back and to the left.

“This is…” Frost’s words were swallowed by the storm.

Christ, it was getting bad.

Chase’s hair was completely soaked, and she was forced to continually swipe water from her face and eyes. The water jug was weighing her down and she debated leaving it behind. There was enough water coming from the sky to keep them hydrated for months.

Chase lugged it with her, just in case.

Frost moved slowly now, deliberately.

It was becoming almost impossible to see more than a few feet in front of them. If the rain had been moving laterally over the top of the cliff, they would have avoided the brunt of it. But it wasn’t.

The rain was coming in from the ocean, pressing them against the side of the island.

Frost took two more steps, followed by a third.

A thick stream of sloshing water filled a crevice in front of them. Frost made a move to straddle it, but her foot slipped.

She cried out and Chase instinctively reached out with both hands.

Chase also slipped, but not as badly as Frost.

She dug her toes in, not really sure what she was planning on doing. If Frost did fall—she was still trying and failing to gain traction with her left foot—there was nothing Chase could do.

Frost reached up, dug her fingers into a crevice.

Held on tight.

Her foot moved up and down, left to right, searching for purchase.

In her mind, Chase pictured Frank’s battered body, his spine rounded in the complete opposite direction of normal.

“Left!” Chase screamed. “There’s—”

A tremendous crash from below made Chase’s jaw clamp shut.

She glanced behind her, almost fell herself.

It was the water jug—it had slipped from her hand and had tumbled down the fifty degrees slope before smashing on a rock.

“Fuck!”

Chase turned her head forward and was relieved to see that Frost’s shoe had found a minute ledge.

“We can’t go up!” Frost yelled. “It’s too steep! Too slippery!”

Chase looked down again.

“We can go down, either!”

Fuck, what a disaster. This whole case was a mess.

“I’m losing grip here!” Frost had moved the straps of the headlamps up to her shoulder so that she had both hands available.

The sky was so dark now, that Chase wished they’d been smart about this and put them on.

She was amazed and alarmed at how quickly the weather had turned. Sunny, when they’d left Orange County.

Cloudy halfway to San Nicolas.

Starting to rain when they got off the boat.

Fucking goddamn deluge now.

“Where, then?” Frost cried, desperation coating her tongue.

“I don’t know!”

Chase looked around, blinking furiously in a failed attempt to clear the water from her vision.

“Can you go left?” Even though she couldn’t see now, she knew that it was flatter that way.

“No! Too slippery.”

Fuck.

Chase’s eyes drifted to her right. It was progressively steeper in this direction, but she saw something dark maybe six feet up and ten feet left.

She let go of the rock face, wiped her eyes.

A series of shrubs, maybe?

Probably?

If they’d survived this long on the side of the cliff, their roots had to be strong.

Without any other options, she shouted, “Let’s move right. Drop the tent if you have too. See that dark patch? We can try to hold on there, wait for the storm to pass.”

Frost squinted.

“Okay.”

Ten feet over, six feet up. Chase had never been a math genius, but the equation was simple enough.

Pythagorean’s theorem.

A total distance to travel of just under twelve feet.

“Look out!” Frost cried.

A large bolus of water crashed down toward them.

Frost ducked her head, pressed closer to the wall.

It hit her hard, broke on her head and back. It splashed onto Chase next, but it had much less impact.

“You okay?” Chase asked.

“Yeah! Gotta move, though.”

“Follow me—I’ll lead,” Chase offered.

She slid her foot over. On a sunny day, you could probably walk up the section they were now traversing. Now, it was precarious, not quite Stallone from Cliffhanger-level difficult, but it might as well have been.

Chase stretched her right hand out, found a jutting rock, and gripped it. Her right foot followed.

Left hand, left foot next, like some sort of spider.

The next perch was up about six inches, and she repeated the process.

Frost had to lower herself a little, which was difficult because of the ever-growing stream passing to her left, but she managed.

“Just follow me,” Chase repeated.

She moved again, another foot sideways, another half foot up.

Frost followed.

It was slow going. Twice, Chase felt her feet slipping out from under her but managed to stay calm and secure.

But she made it.

And then she realized her mistake; the dark shadows on the side of the cliff weren’t shrubs, but trees. And they were larger now that Chase could see them up close.

Maybe six of them, mostly threadbare. What’s more, is that they weren’t coming directly out of the side of the stone as she first thought.

Instead, they were growing out of a ledge of some sort.

Chase grabbed one of the trunks and pulled down, checking how sturdy it was. She suspected that the tree must be fairly solid—it had survived a lifetime of storms like this one, and perhaps others that had been far worse, after all.

It held and Chase pulled herself upward and grabbed another. It, too, felt solid.

Here goes nothing, she thought.

Chase essentially did a pull-up, her back muscles straining. She raised a knee, pressed it to the ledge.

And then, in moments, she was sitting relatively comfortably, save a knotty branch digging into her back.

The ledge itself was a good three feet deep, maybe six wide.

More than enough room for both of them to sit and wait out this fucking storm.

“Pass me the tent,” Chase said, leaning down.

Frost slipped the strap off her back and moved the black bag to her shoulder. Handing it over meant that she had to let go with one hand.

“Careful.”

Frost took a breath, adjusted her grip, then let the strap fall to her inner elbow.

The weight of the tent messed with her balance and Frost’s face became a mask of concentration.

She tried to thrust her arm upward, but the bag was just too heavy.

Chase saw the fingers of the woman’s other hand turn white as she strained to keep her grip.

“Fuck it,” Chase said. “Just drop the goddamn thing.”

“You sure?” Frost said from between clenched teeth.

“Drop it!”

Frost did and before it so much as banged off the cliff and tumbled end over end, she raised her now free arm.

Chase grabbed and pulled.

Frost came up and collapsed beside her, breathing heavily.

The canopy from the pine needles overheard finally offered them some relief from the storm and both of them took a coordinated breath.

“That was fucked up,” Frost breathed.

“No kidding. This whole idea was a disaster from the start. After the storm passes, we head back down. Fuck this.”

Frost said nothing. Instead, her eyes were drawn to the trees around them. Chase saw Frost’s soaked brow lower a little.

“What is it?”

Instead of answering, Frost turned around, spread some of the tree branches, and peered behind them. Chase put her hand out on the woman’s back in case she slipped.

“Frost?”

Alex turned back and sat again, now with a smile on her face.

“What is it?”

“Maybe this wasn’t such a disaster, after all.”

“What do you mean?”

Frost shook one of the branches.

“You know what sort of tree this is?” Frost didn’t wait for her to answer. “Torrey Pines. And you know what’s behind us?”

“You sure—”

“A cave.”

Chapter 32

So many names.

So, so many names.

Andrew had printed out the list that Linus had sent Tate, and they were slowly going through the first fifteen or so, all from Nevada.

It was tedious work.

The first three or four were clearly not their victims. The ages matched, as did the time of the disappearance, but the police were fairly certain that two of them were runaways and none of them could find any connection to the coast.

The third had been sleeping in the back of a car that had been parked and was subsequently hijacked.

The final girl had been at home when someone had broken in. While technically considered missing, copious amounts of blood had been found on the scene. Although not explicitly stated, the police suggested that it was highly unlikely that the girl had survived.

“This is going to take forever,” Tate grumbled. He wanted another drink but any more and he was going to lose his focus.

“There has to be a way to narrow this down even further,” Andrew said.

As if hearing the man speak, Linus called back.

“Tell me you have something for us.”

“I do—I think.”

He paused.

“And? Tell us.”

“Right. So, I found not one but three missing girls, eight, nine, and eleven years old all missing persons, all investigated by the Coast Guard.”

“Three?”

“Yeah.”

“Why the hell didn’t they show up earlier?”

“That I don’t know. Well, I might know.”

“Linus, I’m not in the fucking mood, alright? Tell me what the hell is going on.”

Again, Tate put his phone on speaker and the Denishen brothers huddled around.

“Sorry, Tate. The reports are scant, super thin. One girl went missing eight months ago, the other two a year or so before that. All of them were on a cruise ship with their families at the time. The first two were on board a ship called Mystic Adventures II, the third, and most recent, Magical Voyage I. But I did a little digging, did the whole shell company run around thing. Both boats are owned by the same parent company. I think, although I’m not entirely sure, that the boats are actually the same vessels, just rebranded.”

Tate was confused.

“What the fuck? Three missing kids in under two years? Why didn’t this pop up on your previous searches, Linus?”

Linus didn’t hesitate.

“Because they weren’t connected.”

“Why the fuck not? Same company, maybe even the same boat. This sort of thing—”

Linus had gone from playing his annoying little games to interrupting now.

Tate wasn’t sure which version of the man he preferred more.

Both were annoying as fuck.

“The boats are registered in Aruba.”

Tate waited.

“And?”

“And because of that, the cases were referred to the Aruban authorities. The only reason that the Coast Guard was called in was because the parents insisted. But there wasn’t much they could do.”

Even though Linus had spelled it out for him, Tate was still having a hard time wrapping his head around what the man was saying.

“You’re telling me that because these boats come out of Aruba, the Aruban authorities have jurisdiction? Even if the kid is lost in US waters?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. The Coast Guard tried to get on the boat, but they were shut out.”

“That’s fucking ridiculous.”

“I know. But I guess the Coast Guard wasn’t interested in an international incident. They let it go.”

“Are you hearing this, Denishen?” Tate asked, aiming the question at Paul.

“Yeah. I’ve heard about something like this before. It’s one of the reasons why we’ve advised against any US citizen from taking a cruise that isn’t based in the US. You get robbed or worse—sexually assaulted—there isn’t much US authorities can do about it. The cruise lines usually play hardball because they know a full-blown investigation by the US Government will ruin their reputation.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tate breathed.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much it,” Linus confirmed.

“Whereabouts did these girls go missing?”

“In the Channel Islands.”

Tate’s eyes bulged.

Oh, they’d narrowed it down, alright.

“So, someone grabs these girls from these cruise ships around the Channel Islands… does something with them, and then carves their bones and throws them in the water?”

“I can’t speak to that last part,” Linus said, “but I don’t think they were taken from the ships, per se. Two of them went swimming as part of the regular cruise activities. Neither made it back. Now, I don’t have access to the official Aruban reports but I’m guessing that they just claimed the girls drowned.”

“And a fucking crab carved their bones?”

“Hey, I’m just telling you want I think.”

Tate sighed.

“Good work, Linus. Send me what you’ve got.”

“Sure. One more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Stitts is trying to reach you guys. He’s… not happy.”

“Thanks for the head’s up.”

Tate hung up his phone and seconds later, the three Coast Guard reports came in. Tate pulled them up, gave them a quick once over.

He focused on the most recent one.

“Ava Monroe, ten years old,” he said out loud. “Lives—lived—in Ashland, Oregon. Went on a cruise eight months ago with her father Daniel and mother Estella.”

Andrew rushed back to his computer.

“Found her. She’s in the NCIC.”

“You have a number for the family?”

Tate’s phone range and he almost answered, thinking that it was Linus calling him back with something else.

It was Stitts.

Tate declined the call.

“Yeah, got a number here,” Andrew said.

“Give it to me. I want to speak with Daniela and Estella Monroe.”

Chapter 33

Chase forced her way through the Torrey Pine branches.

Frost was right. They’d been sitting on the ledge in front of a cave mouth.

If it hadn’t been for her looking around and identifying the Torrey Pines, Chase was fairly certain they wouldn’t have noticed it.

If it had just been her, Chase would have been content to sit still, not die, and wait for the storm to pass.

The opening itself was small, with just enough space to crawl into.

The interior was so dark that there was no telling how deep it went.

“Pass me one of those headlamps,” Chase said, reaching blindly behind her.

Frost slapped one into her palm and she slipped it over her head. She adjusted the light on her forehead, then switched it on.

Chase was forced to shut her eyes from the bright, cool light.

“What do you see?”

“Give me a second.”

Chase squinted heavily, waited for her eyes to adjust.

“Shit. It’s huge.”

“What?” Frost was still partly in the rain and was having difficulty hearing.

“Follow me in.”

Still on all fours, Chase carefully crawled forward.

The interior of the cave was bathed in harsh, white light. After just a few feet, the cave widened, and she was able to stand.

“You in?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

How far does this go? Chase wondered.

It was hard to judge the distance they’d traveled but the light, bright as it was, was being swallowed by the tunnel.

Chase tapped the gun on her hip, just to confirm it was still there.

“I guess Andrew was wrong about Santa Rosa and San Diego being the only places were Torrey Pines grow,” Frost said between breaths.

“Guess—”

Chase was in the process of lowering her right foot and was leaning forward expecting to press it down against the rock.

Only there was no rock.

“Fuck!”

Chase awkwardly fell forward. It was as if she was moving in slow motion and she had just enough time to think, It’s some sort of cliff, before her foot struck solid ground.

Her knee locked and she cursed again.

At least it wasn’t a cliff.

The cave had opened up out of nowhere and the ceiling was now a good ten feet above their heads.

Not only that, but it was wide, too.

Chase turned to face Frost.

The woman immediately shielded her face with the flat of her hand.

“Sorry,” Chase said, tilting her head downward. “Watch your step.”

They both looked around now.

“This is one hell of a cave,” Frost remarked. “How far does it go?”

“No idea.” She thought back to the maps that Andrew had given them, which they’d, in their haste, left on the boat. But she didn’t recall aby cave systems on this side of the island, no Torrey Pines, either.

It couldn’t go too far, though, not for miles, because they’d eventually be beneath the airfield. The Navy wouldn’t been able to dig the foundations they required without causing it to collapse.

“Let’s just keep going,” Chase suggested.

The cave continued straight ahead for a good twenty feet before veering to the right. Based on what she’d seen from the shore, she knew that it was steeper here on the outside. So steep, that they hadn’t bothered to even try going this way. It also wrapped around the Southern tip.

Fifteen more feet and Chase noticed something on the ground. Up until this point, it had just been rock. But here…

“Look,” she said, pointing.

At their feet was a pile of dead… grass?

Some sort of vegetation, anyway. It was spread out, thick as an inch in some places.

“An animal did this?”

Chase wasn’t sure if Frost meant this as a question or a statement.

“Or a person,” Chase replied. “Let’s keep going.”

They stepped on the pile of dead vegetation, and they were both grateful for some cushioning beneath their feet.

A smell suddenly infiltrated Chase’s nostrils.

“Smell that?”

“Yeah.”

“The grass might have been brought in by animals, but I don’t think they started the fire.”

Chase drew her gun and indicated for Frost to do the same.

Exhausted and soaked as they both were, they were on high alert now.

Their movements went from tentative and exploratory to deliberate. A slight slide shuffle.

The vegetation was even thicker here.

The smell of fire, or, more accurately, the remnants of fire, grew stronger.

Chase made sure to stay to the right wall and felt Frost lean to the left.

Frost, despite having been through hell during her time as an agent, was still a rookie. But she knew better than to head down a narrow space, guns drawn, single file.

That was a recipe for friendly fire.

The late Constantine Striker had taught her well.

Less than a minute later, Frost hissed, “Chase, look.”

Chase kept her gun aimed straight ahead but quickly glanced at Frost.

The woman was pale—or maybe that was just the light from the headlamp.

“What?”

“Look!”

Frost pointed at the wall.

Chase felt her heart skip a beat.

The entire surface of the smooth stone was covered in etchings and engravings.

She lowered her gun.

There were hundreds of them—different shapes, reaching nearly as high as the ceiling.

For the most part, they were incomprehensible. Circles, spirals, random etchings. Hatch marks.

There were, however, some engravings that looked like rudimentary stick figures.

Then she saw something that really made her heart start to race: a circle with three lines beneath.

Exactly like the carving on the human bone.

“You see—” Chase was stepping forward as she spoke. She stopped when her foot struck something, something more substantial than vegetation.

It spun away from her, drawing Chase’s eyes.

It was a bone.

Long, free of any sinew or muscle.

And there was more than just the one she’d accidentally kicked.

Dozens of them.

Vertebrae, leg bones. Tiny unidentifiable ones.

“Animals?” Frost asked breathlessly.

Chase bent down and picked up one of the larger bones.

A skull.

It was small and delicate.

Also, undeniably human.

“Chase?”

Chase ignored Frost and turned the skull over in her hand, almost transfixed by the eeriness of everything.

On the left temple, someone had carved another engraving.

Not a circle with three lines descending from it, but a semi-circle on the bottom leading to two strange almost cat-like ears on top.

“What the fuck is this?” she muttered, extending the skull toward Frost.

Frost pulled back.

“We need to get out,” the woman said. “We—”

Frost stopped speaking and they both held their breath.

The bone that Chase had accidentally kicked had long since stopped spinning.

But something was making a sound.

A soft, yet distinct padding noise.

“Someone’s coming,” Frost said in her ear.

Chase squatted, placed the skull down.

Then she trained the gun back the way they’d come.

“Get ready.”

Chapter 34

Chase hunkered, took aim.

Frost did the same off to her right.

The shuffling, scampering sound grew louder. Whatever was coming down the cave was moving quickly.

But, judging by the sound of it, it wasn’t very big, either.

Chase’s mind first went to a fox or a badger or something of the like, only that didn’t make any sense.

An over-sized rodent didn’t carve shit into the cave wall.

Nor did she think that it would be able to scale the wall and get into the cave, either.

Either way, she was prepared for whatever was rushing toward them.

Or, she thought she was.

But when something finally came into the harsh light generated from their headlamps, Chase was shocked.

It was a woman.

This, she hadn’t been expecting.

Short, moving on all fours, with dark, stringy hair covering her face. It was like something out of a horror movie. The Ring, maybe, only the woman wasn’t pale but dark-skinned. She was also mostly naked.

“Stop!” Chase shouted, her voice echoing loudly off the sides of the cave.

The woman slowed but didn’t stop. Didn’t raise her head, either. Just kept coming.

She was only twenty feet away now.

Beside her, Chase felt Frost tense.

“Stop!” she yelled again.

The woman’s movements were awkward, almost ape-like.

“Chase? What the fuck is going on?” Frost said breathlessly.

“I don’t know,” Chase admitted. Then she shouted stop for a third time.

When the woman was within fifteen feet of them, Frost adjusted her stance.

“Don’t shoot!” Chase said. “Don’t—”

The woman finally eased her forward progress.

Chase held her breath as the woman planted both palms on the grassy debris, and then flicked her head upward, sending her hair flying back.

“Jesus,” Frost breathed.

The woman was feral. Dark eyes that were impossibly wide despite the light illuminating her features. Broad nose, skin the color and texture of leather.

Her thin, loose breasts sagged nearly to the cave floor.

“What the actual fuck?” Frost said.

Chase immediately thought of the Lone Woman of San Nicolas, the story that Andrew had told them about her living here, alone, for nearly two decades.

What did Andrew say here name was?

The woman hissed, scampered a little to their left, knocking bones aside. Crunching some of the smaller ones beneath heavily calloused palms.

Juana… Juana something. That was the Lone Woman of San Nicolas’ name.

It couldn’t possibly be her—even if you could overlook the minor, inconsequential detail that she was dead, the story had taken place nearly two hundred years ago.

A distant descendant, maybe?

“Juana?” Chase said, mostly because she didn’t know what else to do, or say.

The woman cocked her head and the feral intensity in her eyes eased a little.

“We’re not here to hurt you, okay?”

A stupid thing to say with their pistols following her every movement.

But if this was a descendant of the presumed last member of the Nicoleño people, living here undetected, in complete isolation, then it was plausible that she wouldn’t even know what guns were.

For a good twenty seconds, the woman remained on all fours, unmoving.

Just staring.

Staring at their guns.

Maybe she did know what they were.

“Frost, put your gun down,” Chase instructed out of the corner of her mouth.

“What?”

“Just put your gun down.”

“Are you—”

“Just do it!”

Frost slowly, carefully, bent down and placed her pistol on the ground. Then she held her hands up and stood.

The woman’s eyes darted to the gun, then to Frost’s raised hands.

Her posture became slightly more relaxed; her elbows had been locked out, her shoulder blades pulled back.

Now, her elbows bent, and her shoulders rolled forward.

Her eyes went to Chase’s gun.

Still not a clear indication that she was aware of what the gun was—pointing anything at someone, standing the way she was, had a universally aggressive connotation.

Chase went over her options in her head.

The woman was unarmed. She was also small in stature, maybe shorter than Chase, though it was difficult to be sure given that she was still on all fours.

Her arms were wiry, but the knuckles on her hands were thick.

If it came down to it, she figured—hoped—that Frost and herself would be able to immobilize her.

Fuck it, Chase thought.

She put her gun on the ground at her feet. Then, like Frost, she put her hands up.

She didn’t stand, though, electing instead to remain in a squat in case she had to grab the weapon again.

“What’s your name?”

Rather than answering, the woman moved.

Chase instinctively reached for the gun, but as soon as she did that, the woman stopped.

Chase didn’t pick it up.

Oh, she knew what a gun was, all right.

“What’s your name?” she asked again.

No answer.

“Do you live here alone?”

Still nothing.

Chase didn’t know what to ask next. She glanced at Frost, offered her a shrug.

Frost shrugged back.

Neither of them knew what the fuck to do—the FBI didn’t train you for something like this.

The woman moved again, this time darting to the cave wall. Chase, still low, kept her hands ready.

This is fucking insane, she thought. And then, Chase considered that perhaps she and Frost had fallen down the cliff and this was her—their—last, dying hallucination.

The woman raised a thickened finger and moved it from left to right across the symbols on the wall.

“Is she reading?” Frost whispered.

“I don’t know… I think so.”

The woman’s chapped lips were moving ever so slightly but no sounds were coming out.

“Chase, this is fucked up.”

“I know,” was Chase’s hushed, barely audible reply.

The woman’s finger stopped moving.

And then she pointed.

She was indicating the symbol that they’d found first on the bone.

0

/|\

After several aggressive jabs, the woman flicked her hair and glanced over her shoulder at them.

“I… I don’t know what that means,” Chase said.

Judging by Frost’s expression, neither did she.

The woman pointed again and snarled.

Then she traced the circle with her finger.

“Can you… can you speak?” Frost asked quietly.

No answer.

Just going around and around in a circle with her finger. Then pointing.

“We don’t understand,” Frost said desperately.

The woman cocked her head and hair slipped over one eye.

Then she cupped her hands and brought them to the sides of her mouth. It was the sort of thing that you might do to make your voice travel further in a noisy room.

“Yelling? Are you… yelling? Are you deaf?”

Chase was perplexed.

It was unlikely that she was deaf; she appeared to be reacting to their voices.

What the fuck are you trying to tell us?

“I don’t—”

Chase went silent when the woman scampered again, this time lightning fast.

No longer fearing the woman, Chase didn’t go for her gun. Even if she had, she didn’t think she would have been able to grab it, raise it, aim, and shoot in time, that’s how fast she was.

The woman swept some of the smaller bones aside. Picked up an arm bone, the ulna, and turned it over.

Then she tossed that behind her.

“What is she doing?” Frost asked.

She kept on rooting through the bones, looking for something specific.

Ribs, hip bones, a vertebra went flying, clattering across the floor.

Chase felt a deep sense of discomfort.

There was no emotion in the woman’s face.

None at all as she sifted through the remains.

When she grabbed the skull, the same skull that Chase had picked up, and turned it over, the woman stopped.

She held it out to Chase.

Chase, more confused now than ever, moved to grab it, but the woman pulled it back.

She wasn’t giving it to her; she was showing her something.

That odd, cat-like image.

“You want me to see that?” Chase asked hesitantly.

No reply.

Chase pointed but the woman moved the skull under her arm, almost protectively. 

After a two count, she slowly extended it forward again.

“What the fuck does she want?” Frost asked.

Chase ignored her. She raised both index fingers and moved them to her head, making childish cat ears.

The woman didn’t nod, not exactly, but she did seem to ‘accept’ this gesture. Her eyes drifted up to Chase’s fingers, her head cocking ever so slightly to one side.

She put the skull down and did that cupping thing around her mouth again.

“We gotta do something,” Frost said.

Chase agreed. They were getting nowhere with this.

“I want you to—”

The woman suddenly perked up.

“What is it?”

Then, without warning, she turned and started to crawl away, back toward the cave entrance.

“Wait!”

The woman was like a fucking cat, hands hitting the ground first, feet coming up to meet them.

“Shit!” Chase took off after her. “Stop!”

Chase’s only hope of catching her was to reach the woman before she got to the entrance.

But that seemed impossible. Chase was an experienced runner, but not nearly fast enough.

This became even more obvious when Chase reached the area where the cave shrunk.

Then the woman just… disappeared.

She was there… just at the opening of the cave, which was mostly blocked by the Torrey Pines… and then she vanished.

The only explanation was that she’d burst through… but at that speed?

Fucking hell, she just killed herself. Jumped off the goddamn cliff.

“Frost?”

When she didn’t answer, Chase turned around.

Frost wasn’t there.

“Frost?” Trepidation crept into her voice. “Frost?”

Chase retraced her steps.

“Frost!”

Where the fuck is she? Why isn’t she answering?

And then she saw.

Chapter 35

“Is this Estella Monroe?” Tate asked when someone finally picked up on the other end. This was the fourth time that he’d called the number that Andrew had provided and was giving up hope that anyone would answer.

“Who’s calling?” The voice was female, but it had a rough edge to it.

Tate cocked an eyebrow and glanced over at Paul Denishen.

“My name’s Tate Abernathy, I’m with the FBI.”

“The… FBI?”

“Yes. I’m looking into your daughter’s disappearance.”

Silence.

“Mrs. Monroe?”

A whimper.

“You’re… investigating what happened to Ava?”

“Yes. I have a couple questions, things I would like to clarify. Do you have a moment?”

“Yes. What… what do you—”

“Estella? Who’s on the phone?” A male asked in the background.

When Estella spoke again, her voice was distant, as if she’d lowered her phone to her chest.

“The FBI. They want to know about Ava.”

“Now? After all this time, they want to look into it now?”

“Daniel, please. They—”

“Eight months later?”

“They—”

Tate said, “Mrs. Monroe, I just—”

“Give me the phone,” Daniel demanded.

“But—”

“I said, give me the damn phone!”

There was a minor struggle and then Daniel’s voice came through the speaker loud and clear.

“You’re too late,” he said angrily. “Way too fucking late.”

“Mr. Monroe, I’m Tate Abernathy with the FBI.”

“I don’t give a fuck who you are. You’re too fucking late.”

“I understand—”

“You don’t understand anything! Don’t fucking call here again. My daughter’s dead. You hear me? Dead. Don’t fucking call again.”

The line clicked.

“Shit,” Tate said. He looked at the deputy. “Well, that went well.”

His eyes fell on the bottle of Bourbon.

“Andrew? You have numbers for the families of the two other girls who went missing? Maybe we’ll have better luck with them.”

Except, Tate didn’t think so.

And he didn’t blame them, either.

Chapter 36

Frost’s head was pulled back and something sharp was sticking into the side of her exposed neck.

“Frost!” Chase stepped forward but the fragment of bone or whatever it was pushed deep enough into Frost’s skin that a thin line of blood started to flow.

Like the woman, the figure standing behind Frost was small in stature and slight. A dark eye peered around one of Frost’s shoulders.

Also like the woman, the figure had long, black hair.

“Let her go,” Chase said. She subtly moved her hand to her hip, felt for her holster.

The figure—Chase was still uncertain if it was a man or a woman—pulled Frost back.

Fuck this, Chase thought.

She went to draw her gun only to find it missing.

Shit.

She’d forgotten that both she and Frost had placed their weapons on the ground.

Her eyes darted to the grass and bones at her feet.

The gun was here somewhere.

Had to be.

Only, Chase couldn’t locate the damn thing.

Frost was drawn backward even further.

Where the fuck is it? Her mind screamed.

She finally spotted it, half-buried beneath the dead grass with a rib bone overlaying it.

“Okay, I don’t know what you want, but remain—” Chase was speaking only to distract, and before she said the last word, she dropped and grabbed the gun. “—calm.”

Chase was raising her arm when something collided with her.

Frost.

The figure had shoved Frost into her.

Chase’s head rocketed backward when a part of Frost—elbow? Knee? Chin?—smacked into her forehead.

Dazed, the gun fell from Chase’s hand.

Frost grunted and started to roll over, maybe trying to grab her own gun, which was hidden amongst the bones, or perhaps Chase’s.

Chase’s eyes cleared just in time to see the figure reach down.

She mistakenly thought that he—it was a he; she saw a thick, dark beard—was also trying to get to one of the guns.

“No!”

But he wasn’t going for the gun.

He snatched up a thick thigh bone and immediately swung it.

Chase leaned out of the way, but Frost, not facing the right direction, took the brunt of the blow to the top of the skull.

She moaned long and low and then collapsed half on and half off of Chase.

“Shit!”

Chase raised her hips and bucked. Another moan out of Frost and she slid off to one side.

The gun was just inches from her fingers, but Frost was surprisingly heavy.

She’d only just grazed the butt when the bone came down again.

The entire universe of stars filled Chase’s vision.

Chapter 37

Tate couldn’t reach the parents of the first girl who had gone missing off the shore of San Nicolas.

The phone number that was listed on the Coast Guard report was disconnected and a little more digging from Andrew, this time in a local newspaper—the Akavan family was from Jersey—revealed why.

About eighteen months after their daughter Julia had gone missing, Charles and Moira Akavan drove their car into the garage of their suburban home.

Then, one of them closed the garage door, opened the car windows, and let it run.

When they were discovered by a neighbor nearly two days later—the car had long since run out of gas—they were still holding hands in the front seat.

This knowledge weighed on all of them. A stark reminder that this wasn’t just a ‘case’ but that real people, kids, had gone missing.

And the devastating effects this had on the families of the victims.

Even Tate, with his experience in the CVU, sometimes forgot about this.

It wasn’t that his job ever became as pedantic as that of an assembly line worker, but over time, emotional numbing was a real thing.

After trying a handful of different phone numbers that Andrew had found online, Tate finally managed to reach one of the parents of the other missing girl.

He was tired, and while burying his head in the work had served as a distraction, Chase was never far from his thoughts.

“Hello?” a male voice asked.

“Hi, I’m looking for Mr. Uriah Brown.”

“Who’s calling?”

“This is FBI Special Agent Tate Abernathy.”

“What’s this about?”

“Is this Mr. Brown?”

A small hesitation.

“Yes.”

“Well, Mr. Brown, I just wanted to start off by saying how sorry I am about your daughter, about Megan.”

“Agent…”

“Abernathy.”

“Agent Abernathy, it’s been nearly a year and a half since Megan went missing. I’ve come to terms with the fact that she drowned that day.”

Tate wasn’t sure what to say to that.

“I don’t mean to open more wounds but I’m part of a special unit in the FBI, the Children’s Victim Unit, and your case came across my desk. The thing is, Mr. Brown, I’m having a difficult time finding out any of the details of what happened that day. As difficult as it may be, I was hoping that you could clear some things up for me.”

Tate half-expected the man to explode, like Mr. Monroe had, and hang up, leaving them at square one again.

But Mr. Brown remained calm, almost serene.

“Not much to tell.”

“Anything you can share might help.”

“Are you… are you investigating her disappearance? Because, I’m going to be honest with you, it’s a little late for that.”

“I understand your frustration.”

“I’m too tired to be frustrated.” The man sighed, long and loud. “But, okay,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “What do you want to know?”

“Just walk me through what happened.”

An even longer pause followed.

“Mr. Brown? You still there?”

“Yeah. Megan and I were on a cruise. It was a week-long thing, and we were having a good time. There was just one scheduled stop to go before heading back to California. The ship anchored off the coast of one of the Channel Islands—can’t remember which one. They were letting us snorkel there. Apparently, there was a, I dunno, shallow reef or something. Megan wanted to snorkel, but I’m not the greatest swimmer, you know? I tried to talk her out of it, but… well, when a nine-year-old girl has her mind set, it’s almost impossible to change it. I agreed and we joined maybe fifty others in the water. It was fun at first, just kicking around. And even though I’m a terrible swimmer, we were wearing life jackets. And… and I didn’t think anything could go wrong.”

At this point in his story, Mr. Brown took a break. Tate could hear him breathing on the other end of the line and gave him a moment to collect himself.

Eventually, the man continued.

“It was a little chaotic, everyone swimming next to the cruise ship. There was staff in the water with us, as well as—well, lifeguards, I guess, from the cruise ship watching over us. Everything was fine until Megan suggested we try diving down in our snorkel gear. She was having a hard time, though, because her vest was so buoyant. Wanted to take it off but I said no. I dove, too, wanted to show it how it was done. In a way, I guess I also wanted to prove that I could swim. I dove down, kicked my flippers.

“It was all good until I accidentally swallowed some water. Like, a lot of water. I got to the surface, was coughing up water, but with my stupid mask and snorkel, I kept on just sucking the water back in. I took off my mask, let it go. Someone from the boat yelled at me, told me not to lose my mask or I’d have to pay for it. Something like that, anyway. He wanted me to dive down and get it, but I was still coughing and spitting up water, you know? People were gathering around me, offering to dive to get my mask for me. Several of them did and eventually, they pulled it up.

“With all this going on I… I forgot about Megan. When I got my mask back, I looked for her. Couldn’t find her anyway. Shouted her name, kicked through the group of swimming tourists. Panicked, screamed. The staff on the cruise ship started looking as did everyone else. We… we never found her. Never found Megan or her life jacket.”

Mr. Brown’s voice hitched.

“Again, I’m so sorry. I know this is difficult, but can you tell me what happened next?”

“Yeah,” he said dryly. “I told the staff to call the cops and they did. Only, they didn’t call the LAPD or whatever, they called the Aruba cops. What the fuck were the Aruba cops going to do? They were miles away. I told them that I wanted the real cops, fucking Coast Guard whatever. I was losing my mind, refused to get out of the water. Eventually, I made such a scene that they had no choice. Called in the Coast Guard. They were nearby, did a search, couldn’t find anything. How the hell can one girl go missing with so many people watching? Where? Where did Megan go? We were in open water for Christ’s sake, and she was wearing her life jacket.”

“Then what happened?”

“Like I said, the Coast Guard was searching now. They called in the Navy, too, because they had a base on one of the islands, I think. They both searched, came up with nothing. It was like Megan didn’t even exist. And the staff, they’d been nice up until now, but then they started getting defensive. One of them even suggested that she hadn’t been in the water, implied that maybe she hadn’t even come on the cruise with me. If I hadn’t been in the water, I would have strangled that asshole. Acting like I was a crazy person. Insane. Everything was insane. The Coast Guard and Navy tried to get on the cruise ship, but they wouldn’t let them. Said it was against policy or some shit. Can you believe that? Policy? Fucking policy? Megan was missing. Missing. My little girl.”

Mr. Brown was on the verge of breaking and as he told his story, Tate’s jaw became more and more clenched. It was so tight by this point that his molars had started to ache.

“Mr. Brown?”

“Yeah, sorry. After three hours and no sign of her, the cruise ship said they had to leave. That they had a specific time they needed to dock or something… I don’t know. I refused, wouldn’t get out of the water. They dragged me out. Had to restrain me while we pulled away. I tried to call everyone, the LAPD, FBI, everyone.”

Now, Tate winced.

“They all said the same thing: it wasn’t their jurisdiction, that I needed to deal with the Aruba cops. They came, hours later, docked beside the cruise ship. Took a statement, promised to keep on looking. But I doubt they ever did. There was a guy from the Navy, he was the only one who really helped. I was supposed to fly back to Boston but stayed in a hotel in Santa Barbara near the beach. The guy from the Navy, he came to me every day, gave me updates on the search but never found anything. After a month, I… fuck… I knew she was dead. Drowned. It was the only thing that made sense. There was nothing I could do. I had to go back to work. Had to go… shit. I… I… she was just gone.”

Tate tried to imagine what he would do if Rachel or Georgina went missing. Would he ever go back to Virginia? Probably not. He’d spend all day every day looking for her. Wouldn’t stop until she was found, dead or alive.

But Tate also knew that people dealt with grief differently. Just look at Chase, at how she’d handled her sister’s disappearance.

And Con.

Tate could never forget the hell that Con had put himself through.

“Do you remember the guy from the Navy’s name?”

No answer.

“Mr. Brown?”

“I… I don’t remember. He was a good-looking guy. But everything was so crazy. I was drinking a lot and—”

“It’s okay. Just a few more questions for you. Do you know Daniel and Estella Monroe? Charles and Moira Akavan?”

“No, don’t think so. Where they on the boat? Helping with the search?”

Tate wasn’t sure how to answer that.

“No, not exactly. Mr. Brown—”

“You… you haven’t found her, have you?”

Desperation.

Tate knew that some people held out hope that their missing child was still out there somewhere, no matter how improbable.

Others, like Con, knew the facts, just wanted to find their loved one’s body so that they could have a proper burial.

Tate suspected that Mr. Brown fell into the former category.

He didn’t have the heart to break the news to the man.

“No, we haven’t. Like I said, just going through some old cases. Thanks for your help, Mr. Brown. If we do find your daughter, we will let you know.”

“Thanks.”

He hung up and Tate looked at Deputy Denishen.

“What do you think?”

The man shifted in his chair and now his eyes locked on the bottle of bourbon.

“I think Mr. Brown just confirmed what we all thought.”

“Yeah. Andrew, do you have the names of the Coast Guard and the guy from the Navy who helped search for Megan?”

Andrew pulled up the incident report.

“The guy from the Coast Guard is named Jeff Humstead. No mention of someone from the Navy?”

“Have a number for Jeff?”

Andrew scanned the pages of the document on his computer.

“Yeah, have one here. You want it?”

“Give it to me. And Paul, pour me another drink.”

Chapter 38

Unlike Frost, Chase hadn’t been knocked out. Not completely—she was dazed and just barely holding onto consciousness. Half-aware that she was being dragged deeper into the cave.

“Please…” she moaned, unsure if the man pulling her understood what she was saying.

Highly doubtful.

She begged anyway.

“Let me go… let us go.”

Frost was still lying on the pile of bones, completely unconscious.

How long would she be out for? A few minutes?

If she woke up, she could grab their guns. Save herself.

Save them both.

Chase’s headlamp had been knocked askew, but she had no strength to fix it, no energy to fight, either. Her limbs were like concrete.

The light shone off to one side and Chase tried to turn her head to see where she was being taken.

Big mistake.

Pain shot through her temples, pain that refused to go away even when she squeezed her eyes tightly closed.

Chase felt like vomiting, the pain was so bad.

The man pulling her feet suddenly stopped and let go.

If she’d been any closer to herself, Chase would have fought, would have run.

Something scraped across the cave floor then the man had her by the ankles again. He roughly yanked her forward, rolled her.

Chase opened her eyes.

She saw more of them now, men, all naked save a small swatch of cloth covering their genitals. At least three, as many as six—her vision was doubled or trebled.

Frost hadn’t woken up. Like her, she’d been dragged across the floor. The men, who were indistinguishable from the one who had pressed the weapon to Frost’s throat—dark, greasy hair, full beards—rolled the woman’s limp body beside Chase.

Fearing the worst, Chase gathered enough strength to crawl over to her.

“Frost?” Chase gagged. Her head felt three sizes too big. She let her ear fall to Frost’s chest and listened.

Her heart was beating, and she was breathing.

Chase breathed a sigh of relief, which only exacerbated her injuries.

She shut her eyes again, felt herself fading.

Barely heard a scraping on the cave floor.

Chase forced herself to remain conscious and, by sheer will alone, opened her eyes again.

She stared with warped vision at some sort of cage door. It was made of branches and roots, tied together with vines.

“No.”

The men were walking away.

“No.”

Chase crawled to the cage. Grabbed the branches. Shook them.

The thing was solid.

“No, please.”

Chase shook the bars.

“Please! Please!”

Chapter 39

“Hello?” Coast Guard Commander Jeff Humstead said.

“Hi, this is Tate Abernathy with the FBI. You got a moment to chat?”

“I do, but I can’t,” Jeff said.

“What do you mean?”

“Look, I don’t to be a dick, Agent Abernathy, but a little of people are pissed off at you and your partner.”

“It was an accident.” Tate tried not to sound defensive, but he was tired. “A terrible accident.”

“Be that as it may, the memo has gone out. The Sheriff—”

Tate, aware that the Denishen brothers were observing him, decided that now was the time to take control of this conversation.

“Commander Humstead, I need to ask you a few questions and they have nothing to do with Frank Vitrano or San Nicolas. Completely unrelated.”

A little white lie.

“What do you need to know?” Tate could picture the man’s eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“About eighteen months ago, a girl went missing from a cruise ship. Her name was Megan Brown. Your name was listed as being involved in the search.”

“I remember it. The father was irate. Wouldn’t get out of the water.”

“Yeah, I just spoke to him. He told us that the cruise line was pretty, uhh, reluctant to let you guys or anyone else from the US investigate.”

“Reluctant? No, they downright blocked us. We tried to get on that boat, but they refused. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the laws regarding these ships, but if they aren’t based out of the US, we have no authority.”

“I know. Mr. Brown said that they tried to make it look like his daughter wasn’t even on the boat.”

“I remember that, too. Ridiculous. They refused to hand over their manifests, but I managed to get one from when they docked on US soil. The girl was on that boat. I mean, everyone saw her. Fucking stupid. Fucking assholes.”

“Did you speak to some of the other people on the cruise line? Any tourists?”

“Of course.”

“Did anybody see what happened?”

“No. They all said the same thing, everyone was having a good time, snorkeling—although, there’s not much to see out there—when the father started choking. I think there was something about lost goggles, too, but I dunno. Then the girl was just… gone.”

“And her body never showed up?”

Jeff grunted in disapproval.

“If she had, it would be in the report,” he said harshly.

“Of course, sorry. Uhh, Mr. Brown mentioned something about a member of the Navy helping out, any idea what his name was? It isn’t in the report.”

“This was eighteen months ago, Agent Abernathy.”

The man was still a bit sour about Tate’s previous question.

“I know. Just wondering if you remembered.”

“I don’t. But I probably have some personal notes about the case. I convinced my boss to let me continue searching for about a week.”

“Have access to those?”

“Agent—”

“I know you’re busy, and I know what the Sheriff said. But in addition to Megan Brown and the recent girl who went missing, there was one other. All from the same cruise line.”

“Really?” Jeff sounded legitimately surprised by this.

“Yeah. Don’t know if there’s a link or if it’s just pure negligence but I’m trying to figure it out.”

“Shit. Look, I’ll tell you what, let me see if I can dig up my notes. I’ll give you a call back.”

“Thanks, appreciate it.”

“Sure. Later.”

He hung up and Tate tapped his phone against his palm.

“Andrew, was the Coast Guard involved in the searches for the other girls?”

“They were.”

“See if you can get me those numbers, too. I want to call everyone who so much as stepped into the water the day they went missing.”

Chapter 40

Chase was cradling Frost’s head in her lap when the woman finally woke.

“Frost?”

She turned her head to one side and vomited.

Chase held her hair.

Not much came up, just a little water.

“My head…” Frost said. Her voice cracked.

This wasn’t a good sign. She was no expert, but Chase knew that getting struck in the head hard enough to be knocked out cold was no joke. In the movies, you could get knocked out multiple times, remain unconscious for hours, and wake up with just a dull headache.

No so in real life.

You could have a cracked skull, a brain bleed, a hemorrhage, any number of potentially fatal conditions.

The fact that Frost was awake, and speaking, though, was a positive sign. Didn’t mean that she was going to be perfectly fine but not waking up was worse.

Much worse.

“Try not to move too much,” Chase said.

Frost didn’t listen. She attempted to sit up but then let out a pained grunt and slumped back into Chase’s lap.

“Where are we?”

This was not good.

“You don’t… remember?”

Frost turned her head slowly to look at Chase.

“Yeah, we… we were on the boat…” Frost looked confused, allowed her eyes to drift around. Her headlamp had been dislodged from the blow she’d taken and had fallen off somewhere.

Chase had fixed hers—it was straight now—and she moved her head about the cave.

They both took in their surroundings. They’d been dragged to a small section of the cave system. It was the same height as the rest, but only about twelve feet deep. The walls were smooth, slightly damp. No etchings here.

The ground was covered in more of those dead leaves or grass. Thicker here than even in the back near the bones.

When Chase shined the light on the organic cage door that imprisoned them, Frost again tried to sit up.

“It’s probably best if you just stay down,” she said.

“Can’t. Need to get up. Help me up.”

Against her better judgment, Chase did as Frost asked.

The woman moaned the whole time, but Frost eventually sat up.

“What the fuck happened, Chase? I don’t remember everything after the boat.”

“Let me get a look at your head,” she said.

“Chase, where are we? What happened?”

“Just let me look at your head, first.”

Frost reluctantly leaned forward to allow Chase to inspect her injury.

There was a lump just up and back from her temple. Chase probed it gently and Frost hissed, tried to pull away.

Chase wouldn’t let her.

It was squishy.

There was no way to tell if Frost’s skull had been cracked. Or, if there was, Chase simply wasn’t sure how to tell.

“Do you have a headache?”

Chase pulled her fingers back, but Frost’s face remained pinched.

“Fuck, do I ever.”

“Listen, if it gets bad, really bad, you have to let me know.”

Lip service, but Chase wasn’t above this to ease some of Frost’s anxiety. If the headache continued to worsen then this would be indicative of a brain bleed—this much, Chase knew.

What they could do about it being locked in a fucking cave by some Neanderthals was another story.

Who knows, maybe they have a Cro-Magnon doctor or faith healer.

The ridiculous image that followed the ridiculous thought made Chase smile.

She couldn’t help it.

“What?”

The smile melted.

“Nothing.”

Chase went on to tell Frost about their treacherous trek up the cliff, the Torrey Pines that they’d found, and the cave entrance.

She watched Frost’s eyes closely, trying to see if anything she said triggered her memories.

They didn’t appear to.

When Chase mentioned the engravings on the wall and the woman, the Juana Maria-type individual, Frost’s face became a mask of disbelief.

“You can’t be serious.”

“As serious as your concussion.”

“She… she hit me?”

Chase shook her head.

“No. Someone… else was here. At least three of them. They grabbed you, put something against your neck.”

Frost instinctively touched the dried blood there.

“They got the jump on us. And we ended up here.”

“You think… you think that they grabbed the girl?”

Chase wanted to say no, but the engravings, the way that the woman had traced the symbol with the circle and the three lines was impossible to ignore.

“I think so.”

“What the fuck. The door… can we get out?”

“I tried. It’s just branches and vines, but the damn thing is solid.”

To prove this point, Chase, whose own head was throbbing, moved to the cage, and pulled.

It didn’t budge.

There were small indentations on the floor of the cave, which the bottom of the tree bars were nestled into. They had been gouged out by something. She knew that the man who had thrown them in here had opened it somehow, but she couldn’t, for the life of her, figure it out. She tried to lift the bars and then push them, but this accomplished nothing.

Chase gave up.

She retreated toward the back of the cell, spreading the thick, dead vegetation aside, searching for anything they might be able to use to either break out or arm themselves with when the others came back.

All she found was more grass.

“Fuck.”

Chase moved to the back wall, tossing grass aside. She swiped her hand and hit something hard. It banged up against the wall and she scrambled to pick it up.

A bracelet: a child’s bracelet made of different colorful beads.

Chase brought it closer to her face. In addition to the pattern of beads, there were three white cubes in the center. She spun them around.

Each one of them had a letter on them.

A-V-A.

Ava.

Chase knew instantly that this was the name of their missing girl.

Yeah, these animals had done something to her.

In her mind, Chase pictured the bones they’d found, the skull.

“Chase?” Concern in Frost’s voice drew Chase’s attention.

“Yeah?”

“I think someone’s coming.”

Chapter 41

“How’s the storm?” Tate asked.

“Already blowing over. Should be gone in under an hour.”

Good, Tate thought. Finally, something seems to be going our way.

Andrew had managed to get the names of the two Coast Guard Commanders who had filled out the missing persons reports but neither had answered his calls.

Commander Humstead was the only one willing to break rank and speak to them.

“Good,” Tate said, then dialed Linus again. “Hey, can you—”

“Agent Abernathy,” Director Jeremy Stitts said. “What the hell is going on in California? I’ve tried calling both you and Agent Adams.”

“Sir, we—”

“A civilian died?”

“He fell. We were searching one of the islands—”

“I know what you were doing, Abernathy,” Stitts snapped. Tate couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard the Director speak with such venom in his tone. “Why didn’t you get clearance from the Santa Barbara Sheriff’s Department before you went to Santa Rosa?”

“We didn’t think we needed permission. It’s a CVU case.”

“It’s a CVU case, but it’s not our island. You should have asked permission.”

What the fuck is his problem?

“I get you’re upset, and I’m also guessing that Sheriff Wilson chewed you out.”

“I don’t give a shit about the sheriff. But I got a call from the OC Special Agent in Charge Ryan Jackson. And, yeah, he wasn’t happy.”

“But this is about finding a missing kid. Her femur had a carving on it—”

“Don’t lecture me, Agent Abernathy. And don’t patronize me, either.”

Tate bared his teeth. Wanted to tell Stitts to stop being an asshole.

But he knew better. Tate tucked his tail between his legs and said, “Sorry.”

It worked.

When Stitts spoke again, his tone was calmer, even.

“I was an agent, too. I know that the local cops can be pains in the ass. And I’ve supported almost all the decisions that you and Agent Adams have made over the years. I’ve spent countless hours smoothing things over so that if you happen to return to these locales, they’ll actually speak to you again. All because I know that you guys will solve these crimes. But—but you don’t just go into a town and ignore everyone, do whatever the hell you want. There is a system in place. And these people can help you do your job.”

Tate looked over at Deputy Denishen. He was a rare breed, someone who cared about finding out what happened to a young girl and not worried about pissing someone off.

Would Sheriff Wilson have had a different attitude if they’d spoken to him before heading out with the Navy to Santa Rosa?

Would Santa Barbara Sheriff Bunch?

Maybe.

One thing was for certain, if either of them found out that Chase and Frost had gone to San Nicolas after they’d been instructed to stay away, there would be hell to pay.

“Understood.”

“Good. There’s more to this job than just butting heads, Tate. Much more.”

Tate didn’t detect a question, so he refrained from speaking.

“I’m smart enough not to ask where Agent Adams is. But I will warn you that she needs to play this cool.”

“Understood,” Tate said again.

“Good. Here’s Linus.” Stitts handed the phone over.

“Tate?” Linus said.

“Yeah.”

“Gimme a sec.”

Tate heard Linus walk down a corridor and then close a door.

“Sorry about that. He saw it was you and answered.”

“What the fuck is going on with him?”

“Don’t know. He’s… pissed. Spoke to the man in charge in the OC office. Exchanged words.”

“Did he say about what?”

Knowing Stitts the way he did, Tate suspected that there was more to the director’s anger than he was letting on.

“No.”

“Okay. Listen, I need you to do some digging. We’re getting railroaded here. Any way you can access Aruba Police Reports? I need to know about the missing girls. I need to know what they found.”

“It’ll be tricky.”

Tate grinned. This translated to, I can do it, but it’ll be difficult. And probably illegal.

“Get it done and give me a call.”

“Yes, boss.”

Tate put the phone down on the table.

“What now?” Andrew Denishen asked.

“Now, we wait,” Tate said.

But no sooner had the words come out of his mouth, Tate was already picking up his phone again.

This time, he called Chase.

There was no answer and the frown that was perpetually buried beneath his mustache grew even deeper.

Chapter 42

It wasn’t the men, but the woman again.

She approached as she had earlier: on all fours.

Even though Chase had seen her move like this before, had followed after her when she’d bolted, she was in as much a state of disbelief as Frost, who was seeing this again for the first time.

“Hey—hey, you gotta help us get out of here,” Chase said, moving to the bars to greet her. She slipped the bracelet into her pocket and out of sight.

The woman cocked her head, flung her hair back.

She wasn’t feral this time, just… confused.

Perhaps as confused as Chase and Frost.

Thinking that the woman didn’t understand, Chase grabbed the bars and shook them.

“Let us out.”

The woman looked down and started to play with the grass.

“Hey,” Frost said. “Let us out!”

She was clearly trying to imbue force into her demand, but it was clear that just speaking was painful.

The woman didn’t look up.

She was making something with the grass.

“Look,” Chase told Frost.

The woman took a long, gray piece of grass and made a circle.

Chase knew what was coming next.

“I don’t know what that means.” She cupped her hands around her mouth as the woman had done during their previous encounter.

The woman nodded and replicated the gesture.

“Yell? You want me to yell?” Chase raised her voice, but the woman just stared. “Then what? What the fuck does this mean?”

“Help,” Frost said softly. Chase’s eyes flashed to the woman. “I think it means help. Like, calling for help.”

Chase blinked.

“Fine, I can yell for help.”

Chase did just that, cupping her hands around her mouth as she did.

The woman didn’t nod, but she did have an observable reaction. She cocked her head, as she’d done before.

A sign of understating, perhaps? Or just a fucking twitch?

“No one can hear us in here,” Chase said angrily. “There’s no one coming to help.”

“I think she wants us to help her,” Frost said.

“From what?” Chase’s headache was getting worse. So bad now, that she thought it might be her with the brain bleed and not Frost.

“I don’t know.”

The woman grabbed the grass, messed up the image.

Started another.

A semi-circle with two points at the top.

“From a cat? You need help from a cat?” Chase suddenly froze. “A devil? Frost, you think that looks like a devil? A demon or whatever?”

Frost shrugged.

“Maybe.”

“You need help? That’s why you carved that symbol into the bone and threw it in the water? Is it the men? Are they… are they the devil?”

She pictured the men grabbing Ava, dragging her here, kicking and screaming.

Did something to her in the cave.

Left only her bones behind.

“Is that it?” Chase nearly shouted. “Did they hurt the girl?”

The woman did not react.

This was one of the most frustrating interactions that Chase could remember having.

“For the love of God—”

The woman looked up suddenly and Chase went quiet.

“You hear that?” Frost asked.

Chase tried to listen, but with her head pounding and blood rushing in her ears, she heard nothing.

“No.”

And then Chase did hear something. A rumbling sound. Faint but distinct. Her first thought was that it was the storm, but this sounded too regular, too consistent, to be a roll of thunder.

“What the hell is it?” Chase wondered out loud.

Frost shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

The woman bolted again with that same jaunted, rapid crawling.

“Wait!” Chase hissed. “Wait!”

There was no waiting.

She was gone.

Chase was almost certain that the cave extended straight ahead before easing into a gradual right-hand turn. But the woman didn’t go this way.

She started straight but then made an almost hairpin maneuver and went deeper into the island.

Chase had been too dazed from the blow to the head to notice if the cave continued, if their makeshift cell was just a dead end branching off of the main corridor.

But it must have because the woman’s hands and feet plodded on for a while before fading away.

Chase grabbed the bars again. Pulled.

“Help!” she shouted. Pain shot through her temples, but she wasn’t going to be dissuaded this time. “Help!”

Behind her, now leaning up against the walls, she heard Frost inhale.

“Help!”

Between shouts, Chase heard the rumbling sound cut out.

“Fucking hell.”

She pulled hard on the bars, felt the muscles in her arms, shoulders, and neck tense.

It didn’t budge.

“Chase is that—it’s a light!” Frost moved toward the bars and joined Chase. “You see that? It’s a flashlight.”

Chase’s headlamp issued a bright, cool white but the light reaching them now was yellow.

“There’s someone coming,” Frost exclaimed.

Chase used the makeshift bars to painstakingly pull herself to her feet.

“Hey!” she yelled. “Hey, over here!”

Footsteps. Not feet and hands, but the more identifiable sound of shoes or boots rhythmically approaching.

“Hey!”

The light grew brighter.

“Over here!”

A light shone directly in Chase’s eyes, momentarily blinding her.

Frost, still sitting on the ground, avoided most of the flashlight beam and she recognized the man who approached them first.

“Lieutenant Blaese? Chase, it’s Josh. Josh,” Frost’s voice gained strength with every word. “We’re here! Thank God, we’re in here!”

Chapter 43

Linus called Tate back within the hour.

“Bad news, Tate,” the man said.

If Tate’s expression could have soured further, it would have.

“Just tell me.”

“The Aruban authorities have buried all three cases. Two of them say that the girls weren’t even on the boat. The third says: status unknown.”

Tate wasn’t surprised by this. Annoyed, frustrated, and angered by it, but not surprised given what both Mr. Brown and Jeff Humstead had told him.

“They mention anything about the incidents? Anything new?”

“No. They mention the girls’ names but that’s pretty much it. And I mean it. There’s… nothing here.”

“What about US involvement? They mention the Coast Guard, Navy, anything like that?”

“Nothing.”

“Ok. Thanks.”

Tate had only just hung up when his phone rang again.

“Yeah? Forget something?” he said upon answering.

It wasn’t Linus this time.

“Agent Abernathy?”

Tate recognized the voice as belonging to Coast Guard Commander Humstead.

“Sorry, thought you were someone else. What’s up?”

“Found my notes on Megan Brown’s disappearance. The Navy Lieutenant who helped out is named Josh Blaese.”

Tate froze.

“Agent Abernathy? You still there?”

Tate cleared his throat and snapped his fingers, indicating for the Denishen brothers to join him. He clicked the speaker icon on his phone screen.

“Can you say that again?”

“Sure. The guy from the Navy who helped with the search for Megan Brown was Lieutenant Josh Blaese.”

Tate watched as Andrew’s eyes went wide behind his glasses. Deputy Paul Denishen, who was seated across from Tate, pulled back.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. It’s right here in my notes. Josh Blaese. Why?”

“No reason. Thanks, appreciate it.”

Tate hung up.

“What the hell?” Deputy Denishen said. “Why didn’t he say anything? He searched for Megan, knew that she was still missing, but didn’t even mention it when we were on Santa Rosa?”

“Maybe… maybe he forgot,” Andrew suggested.

“Impossible.”

You didn’t search the ocean for a missing girl, spend time communicating with her father after being instructed to let it go, just to have this fact slip your mind.

“Then why?”

An idea had begun to form in Tate’s brain.

It wasn’t a good one and he wasn’t inclined to share it just yet.

“Hold on.”

Tate scrolled through his recent calls, found the one he was looking for, and clicked it.

He brought his finger to his lips, indicating for the Denishen brothers to remain quiet.

The phone rang six times before someone answered.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Monroe, please don’t hang up on me. I just have one question for you.”

“Okay. Daniel went out for a bit. I have five minutes before he comes back.”

Tate nodded to himself.

“When Ava first went missing, who from the US side helped search for her?”

“No one. The FBI refused to help. They said—”

Time was of the essence, both for Estella Monroe and for Tate.

He cut her off.

“At any point did a member of the Navy ever offer to help search for her?”

“Nobody—”

“Mrs. Monroe, this is important. Did anyone from the Navy ever speak to you about Ava?”

Estella Monroe didn’t answer for some time. During this interval, Tate heard a door open and close on the other end of the line.

“I have to go, Daniel—”

“Please, Estella. Did someone—”

“There was a guy. He was young, handsome. He offered to help, and I think Daniel took him up on the offer.”

“Was his name Josh? Lieutenant Josh Blaese?”

“I don’t—”

“Estella!” Daniel shouted.

“Think,” Tate demanded.

“Josh. Yeah, it, uhh, it sounds familiar.”

“Estella! Gimme the phone! Give me the—”

Tate ended the call.

His throat was suddenly incredibly dry. He looked at Deputy Denishen.

“We need to find Josh Blaese and we need to find him now.”

Chapter 44

“Josh!” Frost said. “Thank God. Josh, you need to get us out of here.”

“Jesus, what happened to you guys? What the fuck are you doing here?”

Josh stood on the other side of the bars, dumbfounded.

“Doesn’t matter,” Chase said, taking over. “Just get us out. We’ll tell you everything once you just get us the fuck out of here.”

“Okay.”

Josh nodded, observed the door for a moment. Then he reached toward the ceiling. There, the bars were closely packed, making it impossible for anyone to reach from the inside through.

He grabbed a section of wood that was wedged between one of the bars and the roof of the cave.

“I saw bones back there, human bones,” Josh said as he worked the wood free. The moment he did, the bars lowered a good half or quarter inch.

“I know,” Chase said.

“This must be where they kept Ava.”

Josh lifted the gate, and now, with the wood removed, the entire structure had more give to it. This allowed him to lift it a little and then, by pushing it inward first, it slid out of the grooves in the cave floor.

He then kept it elevated as it slid over the indentations without falling into them. If Chase had been more of a sound mind, she might have thought the simple yet effective design ingenious.

Now, all she cared about was getting the hell out. As soon as the gate opened, Chase scrambled out.

She fell just short of hugging their savior.

“There are these people here,” she said. “Natives, I don’t know. They—”

“There’s no one here now.”

Behind them, back in the cell, Frost made a pained sound.

“Help me,” Chase said, rushing back to the woman. She wrapped an arm around Frost’s waist. “Josh?”

He came to Frost’s other side and put his arm around her.

Together, they started to move.

“My gun is here somewhere, so is Frost’s,” Chase said as they made their way toward the cave entrance.

Chase’s headlamp illuminated the engravings on the wall and, like the first time she’d seen them, her eyes were almost mesmerized by the floor-to-ceiling shapes.

She found the ‘help’ symbol, if that’s what it was, as well as the ‘devil’.

“My gun. Anyone see my gun?” Chase forced herself to look down at the dead leaves and grass covering the floor. Chase didn’t see hers or Frost’s weapons.

Had the men with the beards taken them?
“Let’s keep going,” Josh said, pulling Frost along. “They might come back. We need to get you out of here.”

Chase didn’t like the idea of leaving her weapon behind, but she liked the idea of coming across those bearded men even less.

“How did you find us?” Chase asked.

“I was doing a patrol on my four-wheeler, heard shouting,” Josh explained. The four-wheeler must have been the rumbling sound they’d heard above. “How long have you been here?”

“Don’t know,” Chase said, which was the truth. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours but might have been as little as thirty minutes.

Josh nodded.

“We’ll get you out, then I’ll get a team back in here. Clear the caves.”

“Does the Navy even know that this was here?” Chase asked. They were near enough to the entrance that Chase expected to hear the sound of rain.

But she didn’t.

A quick glance revealed that while Josh’s Navy ball cap was damp, it wasn’t soaked. The rain must have let up, which would make getting out, and down, a lot easier.

“No. We don’t often come to this part of the island. Why… why were you here?”

“We thought that some roots from the Torrey Pines at Santa Rosa might have drifted here and were used to carve the bones. Then Andrew Denishen found some soil or something in the bone that matched the soil on San Nicolas.”

Josh’s brow furrowed but he kept his eyes trained straight ahead.

Chase was about to add something else when she heard a soft sound from behind them.

She looked over her shoulder.

There, in the shadows created by her harsh headlamp, was the woman.

She pressed her body against the wall, avoiding the direct beam of light.

Chase opened her mouth but the expression on the woman’s barely visible face convinced her to hold her tongue.

She was cocking her head, too, which Chase was starting to think of as the woman’s way of nodding.

They kept moving forward, but more slowly now.

The woman followed.

“There were so many bones,” Josh said. “There must be more than one victim.”

Chase barely heard the man.

When he’d spoken, the woman cocked her head.

Then she moved into the light.

Slowly, almost robotically, she raised two fingers and placed the back of her hands against her forehead in a bastardized version of what Chase had done while locked in the cell.

Chase stopped and when Josh went to move again, he found himself unable to pull Frost along.

Demon.

And then all the pieces finally fell into place.

Chase, her eyes still locked on the woman’s face, brought her free hand, and cupped the side of her mouth.

Help.

Chapter 45

Deputy Paul Denishen didn’t hesitate, reaffirming Tate’s positive impression of the man. His boss, the Sheriff, had already suspended him and had told all of them to stay out of OC and Santa Barbara business.

This order meant nothing to Tate—Sheriff Wilson held no authority over him—but it directly impacted Paul.

That wasn’t to say that Tate was doing this risk-free; Stitts had already warned him about doing things in Cali without consent or at least alerting the local authorities.

He just didn’t care.

“Sheriff Wilson, it’s Deputy Denishen.”

The fact that the sheriff had answered indicated that he must have been back on the mainland where he had cell service.

Even though Paul had the phone pressed against the side of his head, Tate could hear the angry tone in the Sheriff’s voice, if not the specific words.

“I know, and I apologize. But we’ve—”

Paul was interrupted by more shouting.

“Sheriff Wilson, listen, I know you’re angry, but we’ve found something. Something about those missing girls. We need to know where Navy Lieutenant Josh Blaese is right now.”

“Who?” This Tate heard clearly.

“He was the one on the island helping us look for more bones. Do you have any idea where he is right now?”

Unintelligible yelling now.

Tate had enough.

“Give me the phone,” he said.

Denishen handed him the device.

“You’re suspended! If you keep going like this—”

“Sheriff Wilson, it’s Agent Abernathy.”

“What? Put Denishen back on the—”

“I need you to listen to me. We believe—”

“I don’t have to listen to you. You aren’t supposed—”

“Just shut the fuck and listen!”

This finally did the trick.

Sheriff Wilson went quiet.

“Good. Now, I don’t want to step on your toes or go over your head. But I will. I need to know if Navy Lieutenant Josh Blaese is with you.”

“I’m not on the island anymore,” the sheriff said gruffly. “Left by chopper about an hour ago. Left the Coast Guard and Navy behind. Frank’s body is on its way back to Laguna Beach via boat.”

“Was Josh with you on the island?”

“Good-looking guy? Shirt half open?”

“That’s him.”

“He was,” the sheriff confirmed. “Don’t know where he is now.”

Tate cursed under his breath.

“How can I reach the Naval base on San Nicolas Island?”

“We contact them via high-frequency radio.”

Tate lowered the phone.

“Andrew, do you have a high-frequency radio here?”

“No, we don’t.”

Tate swore again.

“Can you patch us through?” he asked the sheriff.

“I don’t have—”

“I’m asking you as a professional courtesy. I should have reached out to Sheriff Bunch and yourself before heading to Santa Rosa. I apologize. But this is important. You have one dead civilian on your hands… one too many. I don’t want there to be more.”

Sheriff Wilson cleared his throat, started to say something, then changed his mind.
“I can patch you through. Stay on the line.”

Tate waited.

He heard a clicking sound, then a dial turning. An operator for the Navy came on, and the Sheriff introduced himself and asked for the Duty Officer.

“One moment please.”

Tate tapped his foot as he waited, his ankle pain all but forgotten now.

“Hey, Sheriff, this is Duty Officer Mike Manilo. What can I help you with?”

“I’m looking for a Lieutenant… Lieutenant John Blaze.”

“No,” Tate said loudly. “Lieutenant Josh Blaese. Is he on San Nicolas Island?”

“Who’s this?”

“FBI Special Agent Tate Abernathy. Lieutenant Blaese was part of our search on Santa Rosa Island. I need to know where he is.”

“Santa Rosa Island?” The Duty Officer sounded confused.

“Yes—part of the search.”

“I have no record of that here.”

“What are you talking about?” Tate shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I need to know where he is now. His exact whereabouts.”

“Hold on.”

While they waited, Sheriff Wilson said, “Agent Abernathy what is this about?”

“I’ll tell you when I know where Blaese is.”

Mike came back on the line.

“He’s on leave for the rest of the week.”

This didn’t make sense. Josh Blaese had fielded their call when Deputy Denishen had first arranged for a boat to take them out to the island.

“Rest of the week? How long has he been off?”

“Mmmm, let me see… since Sunday.”

What the hell is going on?

“Where is he now?”

“Well, he could still be on the island. Some guys take their leave and just stay but—”

“Mike!” Tate shouted. “Where the fuck is he?”

“If he left, he would’ve taken a RIB. Let me see if any have been checked out.” This time Duty Officer Mike Manilo stayed on the line while he did his search. “No, don’t see one checked out. He’s still here.”

Tate’s heart was racing.

He turned to face Deputy Denishen.

“What time did Frost and Adams say they were coming back?”

The man grimaced and didn’t answer.

“Denishen!”

“She… your partner said she was going to stay overnight. I put a tent in the boat.”

Tate nearly dropped the phone.

“Overnight? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“She said not to tell you—”

Tate lost it. He placed the phone on the table and lunged at the deputy, grabbing him by the collar.

“Denishen what the fuck did you do?”

The man made no move to defend himself.

“Denishen!” Tate reared back, preparing to strike.

“Hey!” Andrew cried. He got up from his desk and came over to them. Tate wasn’t sure if the man deliberately clipped his ankle on the way to defend his brother or if it had been an accident.

Tate cried out, let go of Denishen. Massaged his ankle.

“Agent Abernathy! What’s going on?”

Tate, still gripping his throbbing ankle with one hand, picked up the phone.

“Meet us at the chopper. If you aren’t there in ten minutes, I will force the pilot to take us to San Nicolas without you.”

Chapter 46

“Josh… how did you know the girl’s name was Ava?” Chase asked, remembering the bracelet that she’d found in the cell and shoved in her pocket.

She was stalling, and while she spoke, she put her hand behind her back, made a gun symbol with her finger and thumb.

It was impossible to know if the woman saw this gesture and, even if she did if she would understand.

“What?” Josh asked.

They were moving again, and Chase tightened her hold on Frost’s waist.

Frost made a strangled sound and slowed.

The cave entrance was just thirty feet from them.

“Back when you let us out of the cell, you said, ‘This is where they must have kept Ava’. Who’s Ava?”

“I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Chase knew. She hadn’t misheard.

That wasn’t the only odd thing that had happened. At the time, she’d just been so happy to see someone who walked on two feet that she hadn’t noticed.

That and the fact that she’d still been a little dazed from the shot to her head.

Chase had seen the long-haired man close the cage door but still hadn’t known how it worked. Josh, on the other hand, had instantly figured it out.

There was also the fact that he’d claimed to have heard their shouts. Yet, they hadn’t spoken in anything above a whisper until after the four-wheeler had been audible high above them.

“Let’s just get you out of here, okay? We can talk about—”

Josh was also speaking with an ulterior motive.

Similar to Chase, it was a distraction.

He caught both Chase and Frost off guard, pulling the latter free from her grasp, and spun her around. Lacing a forearm across her throat Josh backed toward the entrance.

“What are you doing?” Frost said, bringing her hands up and grabbing Josh’s forearm to keep her airway open.

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” Josh said, his eyes narrowing. “Neither of you are supposed to be here.”

“You knew about this place,” Chase said. “You knew about them.”

Now, Josh adopted a familiar feral expression.

“Don’t come any closer,” he warned as he continued to backpedal. They were only a dozen feet from the knotty Torrey Pines that covered the cave’s entrance.

Chase could see that it was still raining out, but not nearly as strongly as before.

“Just let her go.” Chase took one step, then another.

“You take another fucking step and I’ll push her over the edge just like I did Frank,” Josh said through gritted teeth.

Frost let out a soft moan.

“You were supposed to stay away.” Josh grimaced. “All you had to do was stay away!”

Chase didn’t know what to do. Frost was in no shape to fight back and even if she had been, Chase doubted that she’d have much success overpowering the much larger man.

Stall, just fucking stall.

“You killed that girl, didn’t you? The one you called Ava?”

Not just Ava, Chase realized. Those bones… there was more than just one skeleton.

“I didn’t kill anyone,” Josh countered. “They did. The fuckin’ savages did.”

“I don’t think so. I think that’s what you want people to believe. I think you killed those girls and left the bodies with them. Then they carved into the bone, asking for help.”

“Nobody’s going to believe you.”

Josh had apparently given up on denying Chase’s claims.

“Oh, they will. They’ll have no choice. Not with you and Agent Frost lying at the bottom of the cliff.” Another whimper from Alex. Chase focused on her, saw the woman’s eyes flick to Chase’s right and landed on something behind her.

“They’ll investigate, know that you were here.” Chase continued to stall.

“So? I work here. I do all the patrols. I’ll say that I just came across your bodies, tell the same story I did about Frank. Just a terrible accident. The rain… it made the rocks slip. And you guys weren’t even supposed to be on the island. They might investigate, but probably not. Just like they didn’t investigate Megan, Ava, or Julia.”

Three of them.

He killed three girls.

Chase felt her abdomen tighten.

“Just let Frost go. Neither of us is in any sort of shape to go after you. We were supposed to stay the night. Nobody will come looking for us until morning. You can get on your boat, be miles away relaxing on a beach somewhere before anyone’s the wiser. Just let us go.”

Josh chuckled.

“Or I could just throw you both over the edge and—”

Chase was deafened by the sound of at least one gunshot. Probably more but she couldn’t hear anything after the first.

A section of the cave wall, much closer to Josh’s head in the narrow space near the entrance, splintered. Shards of rock struck the side of his face, causing him to turn his head away.

“Fuck!”

Some of the shards embedded in his skin and maybe his eye.

Josh stumbled, and Frost bucked.

Chase ran forward, nearly smashing her already swollen head on the low ceiling.

“Push him!” Chase yelled.

Frost did.

Injured, Josh was screaming about his eye and let go of Frost completely.

She turned and shoved the man in the chest.

“No!”

Lieutenant Josh Blaese fell through the opening. The trees held his body up just long enough for him to reach out.

Frost moved too slowly, and his hand grabbed the front of her rain slicker.

Chase didn’t make it in time.

Both Josh and Frost tumbled out of the cave.

The Torrey Pines were solid, but they weren’t strong enough to hold their combined weight.

There was a tremendous crack, and then both of them were gone.

Chapter 47

“I’ve got the entire Navy on San Nicolas looking for Lieutenant Blaese,” Sheriff Wilson said. The chopper blades were blowing his jacket from behind, making it billow in front of him. He had to yell to be heard over the sound.

“Let’s get in the air,” Tate said, hobbling toward the chopper.

The sheriff looked passed Tate and noticed the two others he’d brought with him.

“He can’t come—Andrew Denishen is a civilian. He can’t—”

“He’s fucking coming, sheriff. Get in the chopper.”

After everything Andrew had been through, including the death of his friend, and how helpful he’d been figuring this whole thing out, it was the least that Tate could do to the man when he’d requested to come along.

“Fine. But he stays by my side the entire time.”

“Whatever.”

They all climbed into the chopper. Tate needed help hoisting himself inside. He slipped the headphones hanging from the wall over his ears and moved the mic in front of his lips.

“Go! Get this fucking thing in the air!”

Chapter 48

“No!” Chase screamed. She dropped to her knees and slid across the slick stone. She almost continued over the edge after them but managed to brace herself by pressing her palms on either of the opposing walls.

Stopping inches from the edge, she peered down.

“Frost!”

The woman was holding onto two branches, one in each hand.

“I’m slipping,” she said. “Chase, I’m slipping.”

Wet trunks or not, and even after being knocked out, Chase thought that Frost should be able to hold herself up with both hands. Maybe even pull herself back onto the ledge.

A grunt from beneath Frost made it clear why this was proving difficult.

Lieutenant Josh Blaese had one hand wrapped in Frost’s left pant hem.

“Kick him off!” Chase yelled.

She lowered her body and reached out of the opening.

Frost was too far. Chase pressed her chest to the ground, extended her hand as far as it would go. This caused blood to rush to her head and her vision swirled.

“Kick him off,” she said again.

“I can’t. I’ll fall. Oh, fuck… please…”

“I’m trying!”

Chase couldn’t reach.

No way. Her fingers were a good six inches from Frost’s despite her shoulder feeling as if it was going to tear from the socket.

“You have to kick him off, Frost. If you don’t try, he’s going to pull you both down.”

Frost whimpered.

Josh was only holding on with one hand, but he was starting to swing his body, trying to grab with his other.

Chase flipped over, looked behind her.

“Help!” she yelled. “Help!”

A scampering sound came near, and Chase saw the woman on all fours who had fired the gun.

Her hands were empty now.

“Please, help us,” she said.

No reaction.

“Please.” Chase brought her cupped hands around her mouth. The woman cocked her head, came forward with incredible speed.

Chase moved out of the way, fearing that the woman might bowl her over.

She didn’t. She made it to the edge and immediately reached out with both hands. Shorter than even Chase, she didn’t see how this would help.

But the woman didn’t just reach over like Chase had. She literally jumped out of the cave.

“What the fuck?”

Chase gripped the edge and looked over again.

Like Frost, the woman was holding onto a branch in either hand, almost directly in front of the FBI Agent.

Her grip was iron-tight.

“Now, Frost, kick him off!”

The feral woman wrapped her legs around Frost’s waist, locked her feet together.

Frost started to kick.

Her heel hit Josh on the injured side of his face, and he screeched.

“Again, Frost! Again!”

Now secured by the woman, Frost didn’t ease up.

She drove the heel of her free leg down again and again.

Thunk, thunk.

Thunk.

“I’m slipping.”

“Keep kicking!”

Chase leaned over, although this didn’t accomplish anything.

Frost pulled her knee nearly to her chest and then drove it straight downward. Instead of pulling back after it rebounded off of Josh’s face, she ground her heel into it.

“No!” Josh screamed. “No!”

He let go at nearly the exact same time that Frost lost her grip.

She shouted, but the woman held fast.

Josh wasn’t so lucky.

He fell straight down for ten feet, arms outstretched, grasping for air.

Then his feet struck the cliff face. His hips bulged, dislocating, and one of the most horrific sounds that Chase had ever heard made by a human being filtered up to them.

Josh was sent end over end.

His head smacked against the rock next, and he went quiet.

A bloody mess covered the yellowish-gray rock and Chase thought, That’s definitely a fractured skull.

The man tumbled and then slammed to the bottom, what was left of his mangled head exploding on impact.

It was also the least, and last, of the man’s worries.

“Chase!”

Chase looked at Frost.

The naked woman was still holding her up with her feet but wouldn’t be able to do so forever.

“Grab the branch again,” she said.

Frost stretched her arm but couldn’t quite reach.

The woman growled with effort as she lifted her legs just enough for Frost to grab hold.

“Okay, try to hoist yourself up. I’ll grab you.”

Frost, wide-eyed nodded.

The woman also seemed to understand because when Frost pulled, she lifted.

It was the little boost that she needed.

Chase wrapped first one hand, then the other around Frost’s wrist.

She wasn’t going to let go.

No way.

The woman slowly released her legs, then swung, almost orangutan-like to her left, making room for Frost to get back into the cave.

“On three… one… two… three.”

Frost pulled with her right hand and Chase yanked on her left.

Frost started to rise, and Chase adjusted her body, first moving from her chest to her knees, then lying all the way back.

Frost made it into the cave and both of them lay there.

Breathing heavy.

Not saying anything.

Then Chase remembered the woman.

She was aching all over, and her head felt like it was going to explode, but she went back to the edge, anyway.

The woman was still there, dangling effortlessly with just one hand.

“You have to go,” Chase said.

The woman just stared.

Chase waved the back of her hand, trying to usher her away.

She didn’t move.

Chase could only think of one thing to do.

She pointed her index fingers upward and then brought the backs of her hands to her head.

Chase repeated this three times.

Devil. Devil. Devil.

At long last, the woman understood.

She swung from broken Torrey Pine branch to broken Torrey Pine branch, then, easily transitioned to the cliff wall.

She didn’t look back as she scampered along the slope and out of sight.

Chase returned to Frost’s side and lay beside her.

“Thank you,” she said out loud, knowing that the strange, naked woman couldn’t hear her let alone understand. “Thank you.”

Chapter 49

After they’d collected their breaths, and their thoughts, Chase and Frost finally sat up. They were both bruised and battered.

Chase’s head hurt and she could only imagine how Frost felt.

“What was he doing here?” Frost asked. “Why’d he come back?”

This was a question that Chase had pondered as well.

“He didn’t hear us during his patrol, that’s for sure.”

“There’s no such thing as a coincidence,” Frost said in her best Director Stitts impression.

A crooked smile appeared on Chase’s lips. It hurt to smile, but in a way, it felt good, too.

“He still says that, huh?”

“Sure does.”

Chase rose to her feet.

“You gonna be okay here for a minute?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Chase tapped Frost gently on the shoulder and retreated into the cave.

She moved slowly, partly because any rapid movement would exacerbate her headache, but also because she didn’t want to miss anything.

She found her gun, the one that the woman had used to try to shoot Josh, on the ground. As Chase picked up and checked the chamber and clip—the woman had managed to fire three shots—and she considered how lucky they were.

Chase had no illusions about how things would have gone if it hadn’t been for the woman.

Frost would be dead. Chase would have fought Josh, but she didn’t like her chances, especially not in her present state.

She reached the area of the cave with the engravings and used her cell phone, which was low on battery and had zero signal, to take some photos.

How had the woman known how to use the gun? Instinct?

Probably not.

Chase recalled what Andrew had said about there being a firing range on the island. Had she seen the guns used there and remained out of sight?

Chase found Frost’s gun buried in the bones and tucked into the back of her pants while keeping hers at the ready.

After all the commotion, it was unlikely that the men who had attacked them were still in the cave, but she was taking no chances.

Chase made sure that her pictures included the ‘help’ symbol and the one that she dubbed the ‘devil’.

She was about to return to Frost when the light from Chase’s headlamp reflected off of something silver on the ground near the base of the wall.

Chase bent and picked it up and then held the silver chain with a heart-shaped pendant in front of her face.

MM was engraved on one side.

Laser engraved, not done with a Torrey Pine root like the markings on the wall.

Still holding the necklace, Chase scanned the base of the cave wall.

In addition to the necklace, she spotted one of those rubber bracelets, the kind that various charities used to send out to donors a few years back.

Only, this pink bracelet, which was small, clearly child-size, didn’t have a breast cancer symbol on it.

It read: Best Friends Forever.

Chase felt her heart thump.

Holding both items, she stepped back.

Both she and Frost had spent time staring at the engravings and Chase was hard-pressed to believe that they’d missed these items. Especially the silver chain, which glinted beneath the light from her headlamp.

She returned to Frost’s side, who was peering out the cave entrance. Now with most of the pines having been broken and bent, they had a clear view of the horizon.

The sun was fighting to break through.

“Found these,” Chase said, handing the bracelet and necklace to Frost. She reached into her pocket and passed the beaded bracelet with ‘AVA’ on it to the woman as well.

Frost inspected the items.

“I think Stitts is wrong,” Chase said softly. “I think there are coincidences. I think Josh kept these items as trophies from the girls he’d killed. He shoved Frank off the cliff as a distraction, knowing that his death would slow us down, and hopefully get us to stop looking for the girl. Almost worked. But then he panicked, brought these here, and planted them just in case we came looking. He didn’t even know we were here.”

Frost ran a finger over the MM on the heart pendant.

“That’s why he offered to help us go to Santa Rosa. He knew that the girls weren’t there. He was trying to keep an eye on us.”

“Yeah,” Chase said softly.

For nearly a minute, neither of them spoke.

Then Frost said, “What’s going to happen to these people? The ones in the cave?”

Chase considered this.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. Her mind turned to Juana Maria, the Lone Woman of San Nicolas. She’d survived for eighteen years without being discovered. And when she had been found and brought back to California, she’d died within a few weeks.

As much as her head hurt from being attacked, Chase didn’t want the same thing to happen to these cave dwellers.

They’d survived for much longer than Juana Maria. Survived and remained undetected by all but one Navy Lieutenant.

A devil.

Were they descendants of Juan Maria? The real last Nicoleño people?

Or a different tribe? Migrants from a nearby island?

Impossible to know.

Andrew might have some insight, but Chase didn’t.

It seemed improbable that they lived here without being found out.

Sure, the cave entrance had been hidden but there was a fucking Navy base on San Nicolas.

Frost gave the bracelets and necklace back to Chase and she put them in her pocket for safe keeping.

“Are we going to tell the others about them?” Frost asked.

“No,” Chase answered instinctively.

“But they’ll know, right? The cave drawings, the carvings in the bone?”

“Yeah, they’ll know. I just hope they never come back.”

An image of a half-naked woman flashed in Chase’s mind. She saw the woman bring her pointed fingers to her head.

It was sad how these people who had limited if any interaction with others, couldn’t speak, could barely communicate, still knew true evil when they saw it.

Were even better at recognizing it than Chase who had spent time with Lieutenant Josh Blaese.

The sound of engines above them suddenly filled the now-calm air.

“Well, looks like they’re coming,” Chase said. “Just follow my lead on this, okay?”

Chapter 50

The chopper lowered down near the collection of ATVs and other vehicles that had gathered near the southern tip of San Nicolas Island.

“Put it down here,” Tate said into the mic.

“We don’t have clearance—”

Tate spotted both Chase and Frost surrounded by Navy men. They were soaking wet.

“I don’t care! Put it down here!”

“Land the chopper,” the sheriff instructed.

The moment the helicopter touched down, Tate ripped the headphones off and ran out as best he could.

“Chase!” he yelled. “Chase!”

She peeked around a Navy Commander in a white hat and Tate sprinted for him. His ankle hurt like a son of a bitch, but he didn’t care.

Usually, they liked to keep their personal relationship private during investigations but right now, he didn’t give a shit about that either.

Tate wrapped his arms around his wife and hugged her tightly.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Chase hugged him back while the others, at least a dozen Navy officers, looked on.

After a full minute, he finally let go and took his wife in.

She looked brutal. Her eyes were red, and she was soaked to the bone. There was a nasty bruise forming on her forehead.

“What the hell happened?”

“It’s a long story.”

A non-answer, but something in her face told him that it was a story for another time.

Tate pulled back and addressed the man in charge, the one in the white hat.

“We need to find Lieutenant Josh Blaese. He—what?” The man, who was in his sixties, with white hair and deep grooves around his mouth gave him a look.

“You’re Agent Abernathy?” the man asked in a sandpaper voice.

“Yeah, what—”

“Come with me.”

Tate was reluctant to leave Chase’s side but figured she was safe with these men, and with the Denishen brothers and Sheriff Wilson who were making their way over from the chopper.

Tate gave Chase’s shoulder a squeeze and then followed the Commander toward the edge of the cliff.

Tate took one look down and understood the commander’s reaction to his request to find Josh Blaese.

The handsome Navy Commander lay in a bloody heap at the bottom.

“Jesus. What happened?” he asked absently.

“Still working out the details. According to your colleagues, they were investigating a hidden cave system when Lieutenant Josh Blaese attacked them.”

Oh, Chase had a story to tell, alright.

“I’ll send some men into the cave, and we have others searching Lieutenant Blaese’s quarters on the base. Agent Adams found some jewelry she believes belonged to three missing girls.”

Tate did not envy the man and the task he had ahead of him.

The media involvement would be intense and hard questions would be asked. Questions about why the Navy didn’t do more to find the missing girls.

But that was this man’s burden.

Their work here was done.

Tate and the Commander returned to the group.

While Chase looked bad, Frost was even worse.

“We need to airlift them to the hospital,” Tate said to the sheriff.

“Agreed.” He turned to Deputy Denishen. “Deputy, you coordinate with the Navy and the Santa Barbara Sheriff’s Department until I return. Andrew, come with us.”

“Sheriff?” the Commander said. “We’re going to need someone with expertise to document what the agents found in the cave. I’m thinking that this is a job best suited for someone with experience with these sorts of things.”

“… what they found?” Sheriff Wilson asked.

The Commander nodded at Frost and Chase.

“Yes. There are some drawings on the wall. Bones, too.”

Sheriff Wilson was torn. He removed his cap and Tate was surprised to see that the top of the man’s head was completely devoid of hair. He scratched his scalp.

“Fair enough. Andrew Denishen, you want to be a special adviser on this case?”

Andrew’s eyes opened all the way and he nodded vigorously.

“Yes—yes, I would like that. Frank would have liked that, too.”

“Good. Agents? You ready?”

Oh, they were ready. Ready to get off this fucking island for good.

Chapter 51

Chase was given a clean bill of health. Just a contusion, nothing serious.

The doctor offered her a prescription for codeine for the pain, but she declined, opting for just regular Tylenol instead.

After the check-up, Tate and Chase went to check on Agent Frost. She was in a gown and lying in a hospital bed.

“Hey, Frost, how you doing?” Chase asked softly, unsure if the woman was sleeping when they’d entered.

She was awake and lucid.

“Been better,” she said, raising her arm and showing them the IV line that had been placed in the back of her hand. “Grade 4 concussion but no skull fracture. I’m going to be fine.”

Chase grabbed her extended hand and held it.

“Good. Good.”

She breathed a sigh of relief.

“We’re going to head to the museum for a bit then come back. You going to be okay alone?”

The door behind them opened before Frost could answer, someone entered.

“Oh my God, Agent Frost, are you okay? What happened?”

They all looked at the large man with wide eyes who waddled into the room.

Chase protectively moved in front of Frost on the bed.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Agent Hale. I was… I was staying with Cheryl Jankovish as Agent Frost instructed. I just—I heard that you were here, and I came right over.” Agent Hale observed her face intently. “My God.”

Chase blinked.

You stayed with Cheryl Jankovish all this time?

“I’m sorry, Chris,” Frost said from her hospital bed. “I—I completely forgot.”

Chase stepped aside.

“That’s okay… I’m just… are you… hurt? I mean, your head—”

“I’ll be fine,” Frost said with a dry swallow and an accompanying grimace. “How’s Cheryl?”

“Still in a coma. Hasn’t woken yet.”

“When—if—she does,” Tate said, “I want you to charge her with two counts of aggravated murder and everything else you can throw at her. I don’t want her to ever see the light of day.”

“Yes—of course.”

“You going to be okay for a bit?” Chase asked Frost again.

“I’ll be fine,” Frost said with a weak smile.

“Good. Tate?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

***

Chas was surprised to find both Denishen brothers back at the Heritage Museum. It was a good four hours since they’d left the island, but she’d expected both of them to remain on San Nicolas well into the night and perhaps stay there for the next few days.

Andrew was busy shoving equipment into an over-sized bag.

“What are you guys doing back here?” she asked.

“Need some equipment to document everything. I was in the cave, saw the drawings. They were… incredible.” Andrew’s voice was brimming with excitement. He suddenly stopped what he was doing to look at Chase. “You didn’t… you didn’t see them, did you?”

Chase hated the idea of lying to this man, so she just avoided the question and addressed Paul instead.

“They find anything in Josh’s quarters?”

“Yeah. I think you’re right about him bringing those trophies back to the cave to plant them,” Deputy Denishen said. “But we found other items with his things—clothing, mostly. Going to reach out to the families, see if they can confirm they belonged to the missing girls. Apparently, Josh did all of the patrols of the south side of the island by himself. Has been doing it for years.”

“Not surprised. Likely came across the cave while looking for a place to stash their bodies.”

It pained her to speak so plainly, but Chase hated euphemisms.

“You guys ever heard of Hiroo Onado?” Andrew said.

“No,” the three of them said at the same time.

“He was a Japanese soldier during World War II, was stationed on Lubong, an island in the Philippines. He and his squadron were informed that the war ended but he didn’t believe it. Thought it was propaganda. Stayed on the island for thirty years. Undetected. His squad all died from unknown causes, but Hiroo was alive. Only surrendered when the Japanese army located his commanding officer, an old man now, and took him to the island to speak to Hiroo directly.”

Andrew Denishen and his stories, Chase thought.

“What are you going to do with everything you find?” Tate asked.

Andrew grew solemn.

“You know, I was thinking about setting up a special exhibit at the Museum. Was going to name it after Frank Vitrano to honor him.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Chase said.

“Me, too,” Tate added. Then he turned to Deputy Denishen and held out his hand. “I want to thank you both for your help.”

He shook Paul’s hand first then Andrew’s.

“If you ever need anything, you have our number.”

Chase stared at Andrew for a long while before leaving.

She liked the idea of putting everything they’d found on display and liked the notion of naming it after Frank even more.

But she prayed Andrew would never find the woman who had saved them—or the men who had attacked her and Frost.

They had already faced the devil once. There was no need to expose them to the far darker horrors Chase knew that mankind was capable of.

Epilogue

They’d just finished packing up their things when the call came in.

Ryan Jackson, the Special Agent in Charge of the OC office, had requested for them to come see him before they flew back to Virginia.

When Chase, not subtly asked, why, the man declined to answer.

“Well, I guess we knew that was coming,” Tate said, slinging his overnight bag over one shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s just say that Stitts wasn’t too happy about the way we went about things here in California. You handled the last one, Chase. Please, let me handle this.”

***

Chase knocked on Ryan Jackson’s door.

“Come in.”

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered under her breath. This wasn’t the first time that she’d had to eat crow from one of her superiors, not by a long shot. But for some reason, this felt different to Chase.

The feeling remained when she saw that Agent Frost, the right side of her face covered in a nasty purple bruise but now dry and wearing a fresh outfit, was already in the office.

It intensified when she noticed the laptop open and turned toward them on Ryan Jackson’s desk.

Director Stitts’ face was on the screen, his chestnut hair, as usual, meticulously coiffed.

“Please, take a seat,” Ryan Jackson instructed.

“I think I’ll stand,” Chase said.

Agent Jackson shrugged, as if to say, ‘Suit yourself’.

Tate took up residence in the chair beside Frost, who was doing her best to avoid looking at them.

“First,” Jackson began, running a hand over his bald head, “I want to thank all three of you for your help in Orange County. We are coordinating with the Navy and we’ve conclusively linked Lieutenant Josh Blaese to two of the three missing girls and believe it’s only a matter of time before we link him to the third. We think that he abducted them from the cruise ship, posing as a tourist. He took them to the cave but beyond that, we don’t know what happened to them. Not sure we ever will. Then he inserted himself in the investigation as a Naval Officer. As for Cheryl Jankovish, the doctors have officially marked her as brain-dead. If she ever wakes up, it’s unlikely that she’ll ever be fit to stand trial. Good work on that case, too.”

Chase took all this in. She wasn’t one for accolades, never had been. But Stitts’ virtual presence suggested an alternative reason for the meeting.

Chase was eager to get back to Rachel and Georgina and knew that Tate felt the same.

“What’s this really about?”

Ryan eyed her, then waved an arm at Stitts, who took over.

“I’m not sure you are aware of this, but Agent Jackson is only holding the Special Agent in Charge position on an interim basis. His services have since been requested elsewhere in the Bureau,” Stitts said without any emotion in his voice.

“What does this have to do with us?” Chase asked suspiciously.

“I’m getting to that, Agent Adams.” Stitts cleared his throat. “With Agent Jackson being called away, there’s a vacancy in Orange County. And it is my belief that Agent Abernathy is best suited for the role.”

Chase was glad she was standing because if she’d been seated, she would have jumped to her feet.

“What? You can’t—”

Stitts silenced her by raising a hand.

“What’s more, is that we also believe that a change of scenery is in Agent Frost’s best interests.”

Now it was Frost who spoke out.

“A change of—”

“Jesus Christ, would you just let me finish?” Stitts said harshly.

Frost closed her mouth while Chase worked her jaw. The only person who didn’t seem surprised by this, aside from Agent Jackson who had obviously been involved in the decision, was Tate.

His eyes remained locked on Stitts’ image.

“Agent Adams, we think it would be best if Agent Frost comes to Quantico and joins the CVU.”

Frost was unable to remain silent.

“But Tori—”

“I’m aware of what happened to Agent XYZ and your strong connection to her. And I’m aware of your situation in Virginia, Agent Abernathy. Which is why what I’ve said here today is not an order but an opportunity. One I believe is good for all parties. I’ll give you some time before you make your decision.”

And just like that, Stitts ended the call.

“Well, we’re not doing it,” Chase said with a scoff. “I mean, Frost if you want to join us, we would love to have you. Lord knows, we could use your help, but Tate—Tate?” The man was still staring at the now blank screen. “Tate? You can’t seriously be considering this, can you?”

“Let’s talk in the hall,” he said softly, finally meeting her eyes.

“But—”

“Chase, please?”

Chase stormed out and Tate closed the door behind them.

“What the hell is going on, Tate? We have a life back in Virginia. We just got married for Christ’s sake. Tell Stitts to shove this request up his ass.”

Tate was staring at his hands, which were folded in front of him.

“Tate! Look at me!”

Tate did.

“Chase, I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Do what?”

“Work with you,” he said, exasperated. “I thought it would be good to be by your side, make sure you’re okay.”

“I don’t—”

“But these past few days,” Tate interrupted. “They were hell. With you gone, not telling me you were planning on camping out on San Nicolas? I was losing my mind. If we keep going like this, I’m going to have a fucking heart attack. I mean that.”

Chase felt tears welling in her eyes, tried to force them away.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that maybe Stitts is right—maybe it isn’t just Agent Frost who needs a change of scenery, but I do, as well.”

Chase lost the battle. Tears wet her cheeks.

“Tate, you aren’t really considering taking the job, are you?”

END

Author’s Note

I just couldn’t let FBI Agent Alex Frost go. Some of you are going to know her from the Striker and Frost FBI Series, for others this is your first introduction. If you want to know more about her background, pick up your copy of Tell Me Where She’s Buried. If you want an introduction to the series, you can get the prequel for free just for signing up for my newsletter.

Many of the side stories in Tidal Bones are true (the Lone Woman of San Nicolas and Hiroo Onado, for instance) and served as inspiration for this tale. The islands described in this book are also real, although I did take a few creative liberties with their descriptions/lay out. I’ve always been fascinated with the idea of hidden civilizations, of people who have lived without interactions with others for centuries. Traditionally, we’ve viewed them as savages, as amoral beings with no regard for others.

I decided to flip this on its head for Tidal Bones. What if we are the savages? What if they’re scared of us and not the other way around?

As for the ending… well, to be honest, I’m not sure what Frost and Stitts will choose. Won’t know until I start writing the next book in the Chase series… Last Supper, due out in February. Want to be the first to know? Then all you have to do is pre-order the book.

As always, you keep reading, I’ll keep writing.

Best,

Pat

Montreal, 2024

Other Books by Patrick Logan

Detective Damien Drake

Butterfly Kisses

Cause of Death

Download Murder

Skeleton King

Human Traffic

Drug Lord: Part I

Drug Lord: Part II

Prized Fight

Almost Infamous

Straw Man

Dangerous Company

Happy Face

Chase Adams FBI Thrillers

Frozen Stiff

Shadow Suspect

Drawing Dead

Amber Alert

Georgina’s Story

Dirty Money

Devil’s Den

Painted Ladies

Adverse Effects

Already Dead

Direct Evidence

Filthy Secrets

Tainted Blood

Deadly Cargo

Active Shooter

Frost Bite

Grim Harvest

Tidal Bones

Last Supper

Striker and Frost FBI Thrillers

Tell Me Where the Sandman Sleeps

Tell Me Where She’s Buried

Tell Me What You’ve Done

Tell Me Where They’ve Gone

Dr. Beckett Campbell, Medical Examiner

Bitter End

Organ Donor

Injecting Faith

Surgical Precision

Do Not Resuscitate

Extracting Evil

Residence Evil (AKA Beckett’s First Kill)

Tommy Wilde Thrillers

One Wilde Night

Two Wilde Weeks

Three Wilde Months

Four Wilde Families

Veronica Shade Thrillers

The Color of Murder

The Scent of Murder

The Sound of Murder

The Touch of Murder

The Taste of Murder

Don’t forget to drop by my Facebook group and say hi! https://www.facebook.com/groups/LogansInsatiableReaders/

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents in this book are either entirely imaginary or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or of places, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © Patrick Logan 2024

Interior design: © Patrick Logan 2024

All rights reserved.

This book, or parts thereof, cannot be reproduced, scanned, or disseminated in any print or electronic form.

First Edition: December 2024